The New World
by Joon
Summary: Harry is granted a chance to have everything he wants. TVverse. Spoilers for the entire series.
1. Chapter 1

I'll just never learn to stop with these multi-chapter fics. J

Hope everyone enjoys!

* * *

Like most people, Harry knew that he had his good days and bad days. Though of late, the wizard was beginning to wonder if he'd inadvertently pissed off someone with a lot of supernatural clout. Well, pissed off more than usual.

In the past month, Harry's normally infrequent business had trailed off into virtually nothing. Chicago's police department had been issued with a hiring freeze, meaning that while Harry was only a freelancer, the lack of funds available meant it would be awhile until Murphy would be able to call him with a job. Any work the wizard did find himself involved in on his own had less to do with clients coming to him and more of Harry accidentally crossing paths with humans who were on the verge of getting either eaten by a demon or driven crazy by a haunting. And while it might not have been any of his business, the wizard hadn't been about to just leave said demons or ghosts to it. Not when he had the skills to stop them.

Monetary compensation would have been nice, though Harry hadn't asked for any of the people who had fallen into his hands, desperately in need of rescue. But the wizard could have done without last week's damsel in distress calling the cops on him for interrupting what she thought was a romantic night out. Never mind that her boyfriend had been a succubus, prepping her as a nice dinner course for himself.

And there had been the guy two weeks before who had been under the thrall of a sylph, disguised as the spirit of his dead wife. For his pains of destroying the sylph and saving the man from becoming spiritual fuel, Harry had been delivered a punch and a diatribe by the widower who continued to believe the wizard had undesirably exorcised the ghost of his wife.

Harry wondered why he even bothered helping sometimes.

And currently watching as his Jeep got towed, the wizard wondered why he even bothered to get out of bed sometimes.

"Read the sign, pal," stated the officer who had called in the tow. "No parking here on Tuesdays."

Harry stared at the sign that was as clear as day, telling him just that. Only the wizard could have sworn it had been different last night. But he doubted his claim of the sign having mysteriously switched overnight was going to hold up well.

"Fine," Harry relented, telling himself to count to ten. "I made a mistake. But you're towing me for this?"

"I'm impounding you."

"What?!"

"One mistake gets you a ticket," the cop replied, having already mentally moved on. "Having six unpaid parking tickets gets you impounded."

"But…you can't," Harry said, weakly, picturing very clearly in his mind the pile of unpaid parking tickets gathered on his desk. "I'm late for a meeting." The feeble protest was met with an unsympathetic look from the cop.

"You get your car when you pay," he stated.

"Listen, officer," Harry tried. "I need to make this meeting. If I don't, I can't get the money to pay for the car."

"Better call a cab, then," the cop replied, underlining his point by slapping a ticket and a notice letter to Harry's chest.

* * *

"I'm cursed, Bob," stated Harry.

"I believe that's my line," replied the ghost. He watched in silence as Harry slammed the door of his office shut, the one he'd just walked out of not five minutes ago. In his hand, the wizard was brandishing a slip of orange paper that he smacked down on his desk next to the others. "Again?" Bob asked. "Harry, that's the seventh one in the last two weeks."

"I know," Harry snapped. "I swear up and down that parking sign said it was legal until the weekend. Jesus, even I'M getting tired of hearing that," the wizard exclaimed. The most recent misreading of a parking sign had not been a fluke, but more a steady problem.

"Aren't you going to be late in meeting Mrs. Finley?" inquired the ghost on the waiting client.

"Thanks for the memo, Bob," Harry retorted, snatching up his phone.

"What are you doing?"

"What's it look like? I'm calling for a cab," Harry scowled, dialing. "The Jeep's been impoun-" The wizard's frustrations were interrupted by a sharp squeal from the earpiece as the phone fizzled and crackled. The dial tone was gone as a wisp of smoke rose up from the handset. "Oh, this is NOT happening!" Harry shouted, slamming the phone back on the cradle with enough force to finish it off. "God dammit!"

"Harry, perhaps you should calm down. Take a breath," Bob advised, seeing the inadvertently murdered phone.

"I AM CALM!"

The lights angled on Harry's prized Astounding Dresden poster abruptly winked out with a faint pop. Standing in a little more darkness, the wizard slumped against his desk with a long sigh, rubbing his face with his hands.

"Harry-" Bob began.

"I know, I know," Harry said from behind his fingers. "Take a breath. Focus. I won't do her any good showing up like this," he listed.

"No, I was going to say maybe you should stay in today," Bob suggested. The ghost was using his soft voice, the one Harry knew only appeared as often as a smile from Morgan.

_I must look like hell for him to be talking to me like that, _the wizard guessed.

"It's fine," Harry stated, tiredly. He gave his face one last scrub. "I'm fine. I'm calm now." Bob was staring at him, an incredulous frown on his face that was mixed with concern. _Okay, I must REALLY look like hell. _"I can't cancel on Mrs. Finley, Bob. I'll need that money to get the Jeep out now."

"You can always postpone until tomorrow," said Bob. "It's not as if she has another wizard on hold should you fail to relieve her of the boggart."

"I promised her that I'd do it today."

"But if you're cursed as you suspect-"

"I was just exaggerating, Bob," Harry interrupted. "You know how I get."

"Yes, I do," said the ghost, giving him a thoughtful look. "And I know that not even you are capable of this much carelessness," he continued, gesturing to the pile of parking tickets.

"Thanks, I think."

"Really, Harry. There might be more here than simple bad luck. There are several possibilities as to why you've been plagued by so many troubles this past month."

"I'm not cursed. It's just my life," Harry replied. The normally sarcastic edge was gone from the wizard's tone, replaced by something that sounded slightly defeated. Hearing it only increased the ghost's worries.

"I would advise you to give a little more thought to your cursed theory," said Bob, gingerly trying to lead his former student away from his depression.

"Well, theories will have to wait until I get back. Bob, we gotta take care of first things first," said Harry off of the ghost's anxious stare. The wizard felt around his pockets for spare change and came up with a couple of quarters to use to call a cab from a payphone. "And the first thing is doing a job and getting paid."

"Shouldn't the first thing be your safety?" asked the spirit.

Harry gave Bob a bitter smile. "Have we met?"

* * *

Mrs. Martha Finley was a 60 some year old woman who ran a small Laundromat on the other side of town. The white haired, portly grandmother type had come to the wizard as a last resort after several exterminators had informed her that whatever scratching she was hearing coming from her walls, it wasn't a rat.

Mrs. Finley had figured that much out herself after six of her dryers had exploded simultaneously, spitting out wads of laundry. The poor woman had nearly suffocated to death when the 300 thread count sheets she'd been washing for someone had engulfed her in a hot embrace.

It had taken Harry one visit to figure out a particularly aggressive boggart was at work. And it had taken him a couple of days more to figure out how to extract the spirit from the premises. The fact that extraction had ended in success with Harry suffering only the boggart soaking him in soapy water in its exit, had the wizard considering it the better part of his week. And unlike the others, Mrs. Finley was only relieved and exceedingly grateful.

"Please stay for a cup of tea, Mr. Dresden," she offered with an eager smile. Martha Finley had the face most children would consider to be that of a hag's, but her dark green eyes shined with a kindness that made her beautiful to Harry after the month he'd experienced. As the exhausted wizard helped her scoop up the dripping laundry that had burst out in the boggart's wake, he thought about all the troubles awaiting him beyond Finley's door. And the thought of tea to hold off the inevitable, sounded too inviting to turn down.

An hour later, Harry was folding his long legs as best he could under the unusually low table Mrs. Finley had set his tea and a plate of cookies on. "Scottish breakfast," she announced, pleasantly. "The very best kind of tea. Much better than that British." As Harry took a gulp, the small woman pushed a fat looking envelope toward him across the table. "Your payment, Mr. Dresden. And you've earned every penny."

For once Harry didn't quibble over the money or the praise and gratefully took the envelope. Sitting in her kitchen with the comforting smell of laundry detergent wafting in, the wizard felt relaxed for the first time in weeks. "I'm sorry I was late in meeting you today," he apologized.

"Oh, you're such a polite dear," Finley praised with a smile. The perpetually scrunched up features sagged a little with melancholy. "You're just the sort of man I would have loved to have as a son," she mentioned.

Seeing the shadow darken her eyes, Harry felt a twist of sympathy toward her. There was some tragedy in her past that she held close to her heart and having lived with a ghost who shared a similar history, the wizard knew not to pry or pity. Instead, he smiled as brightly as he could at the sad compliment. "Thank you, Mrs. Finley."

His voice seemed to break her out of whatever reverie she'd been momentarily lost in. She quickly returned the smile with a cheerful one of her own. "I'm simply fascinated by what you were able to do for me," she said, pouring herself a cup. A thin, gold bracelet slid down her fat wrist and clinked lightly against the ceramic teapot. "It must be terribly wonderful to have such abilities."

"More terrible than wonderful these days," Harry murmured into his tea.

"Oh, dear," frowned Finley. "I thought I noticed a certain cloud over your head when you came to see me. Here, have a black and white cookie," she urged, pushing the plate toward him. In all his years, Harry had never had the experience of someone trying to soothe his troubles by offering him baked goods. Even when he'd been living with his father as a small boy, the stage magician had only offered comfort to Harry in the form of soft jokes and his general, loving presence. But Finley looked so convinced that a cookie could successfully cheer Harry up that the wizard found himself believing her as well and bit into the sweet treat.

As the delicious taste spread on his tongue, Harry felt his heart lighten. The room felt warm, the company pleasant. The wizard wanted nothing more, suddenly, than to pass the entire day with her.

"This is really good," Harry complimented around his mouthful.

"My own recipe. The secret is cinnamon." Watching Harry chew, Finley took a surprisingly dainty sip from her own teacup, despite her sausage-like fingers. "I'd imagine the life of a wizard is nothing but fascinating. It must be like a fairy tale."

"Not exactly," Harry sighed, feeling the weight of what awaited him again. "Being this way hasn't ever done me much good." He'd said it as the first thing that came to mind, but thinking over his life since he'd first discovered his powers, the wizard realized it wasn't far from the truth. "Half the time I just want to be like everyone else."

"Really?" asked Mrs. Finley, resting her chin on her hand. "You wish to be a regular person?"

"Sure. Why not?" said Harry, thinking of the slew of problems that could be erased with just that one change. He would be able to get a regular job and be around a microwave without having it freak out on him. But more attractively, he would finally be issued some time off. A reprieve from taking on responsibilities that of late had only discouraged and disheartened the wizard. He was tired of being beleaguered upon and he was tired of being constantly broke. He wanted room for a break. Sadly, his occupation couldn't afford vacation days. Thinking on the cyclical nature of his life and the never-ending he'd been trapped in, Harry felt achingly tired. "I'd love to just be normal."

Mrs. Finley smiled. "Well, then I'm afraid that's that, Mr. Dresden," she replied.

"That's what?" asked Harry. The squat old woman slid a thick hand across the table and grasped the wizard's thin fingers. It was a simple motion and the wizard wondered for a moment if she was only giving him a comforting gesture.

But then it was as if someone had simply switched the lights out in the room, plunging the entire area into darkness. Only the black was absolute and Harry could no longer even feel his body as he floated lost and drift less in the inky air. Any sound or shout of exclamation died in his throat as he lost track of his neck, his limbs, his thoughts and himself.

Harry was falling, spinning, breaking, disappearing.

And then as quickly as he was nearly nothing, Harry felt life spark up in his body, like a struck match. His body flared with awareness as something solid and wooden connected with the back of his head with a sharp crack.

"Harry! You okay?" he heard someone demand.

Harry tried to tell the strangely familiar voice that he was fine, except being blind, only to realize that he simply had his eyes closed. Immediately, he felt hands gently padding his body, cradling his aching head.

"Ow," Harry muttered.

There was a sigh of relief. "Jeez, kiddo. That was a nasty fall."

At the nickname he hadn't heard in twenty years, Harry opened his eyes at the face hovering above his. He blinked rapidly at the image, almost willing himself to wake up so that he could get going on feeling sad already at losing what could only be a wonderfully nostalgic dream. Only he wasn't waking up. And it wasn't a dream.

"Dad?"


	2. Chapter 2

As much as Harry continued to blink, his father's face remained as clear as before. Soon there was the feeling of strong arms grasping onto him, pulling him up into a sitting position.

"I told you to wait for me on that ladder," his father chastised, albeit with little anger. He examined where Harry had banged his head on the floor. "You're not bleeding, though." Getting a clearer look at his formerly deceased parent, Harry saw that Malcolm Dresden wasn't as he'd remembered him. His father looked a good deal older, his hair thinner, a few more laugh lines added. But the familiar blue eyes were as bright as ever and the look in them as he examined his son was achingly familiar.

"Ladder?" Harry finally replied, about five minutes behind the conversation.

"It isn't the sturdiest thing," Malcolm said, indicating the red metal structure Harry had apparently fallen from. "You need someone to hold onto it for you."

Looking up to what his father was gesturing at, Harry's eyesight followed the red ladder up toward a massive set of shelves that were crammed with various boxes that appeared to magic trick paraphernalia. After a moment of goggling, the wizard looked around his surroundings and saw it was his store. Only instead of ancient tomes and miscellaneous ingredients, it was now packed with starter magic kits and instructional books on sleight of hand.

"What…happened to this place?"

A frown appeared on Malcolm's face. "Uh…we cleaned it? Just now?"

Dazed, Harry turned his attention back to his father and for the first time, fully registered what he was seeing. "Dad…you're alive," he blurted out.

The frown only increased. "Well…sure I am. I'm not the one who nearly broke his neck falling off a ladder. Harry? You feeling alright?" Malcolm asked when his son began to grasp onto his arms, as if for more solid proof. "Maybe we should get you to a doctor, just in case."

"No, no," Harry assured, still holding onto his father's arms. Now that his senses were coming back into place, the wizard could tell his father still wore the same aftershave as before. "I'm fine," he stated, staring back at the concerned face. Hesitantly, he moved a hand onto his father's cheek and felt the warmth there. "You're really here," he murmured.

Seeing the look in his son's eyes, Malcolm lightly touched the hand on his face. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry shook his head. His mind screamed at him that like last time, this could be some sort of trick. An illusion. But something about this was different. This wasn't a hallucination and it wasn't someone pretending to be his parent. It was really him. Harry could feel it. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just…I'm just really glad to see you."

Ignoring the confused look on his face, Harry pulled his father into a tight embrace. The wizard bit down on his lips to keep a sob escaping him when he felt arms winding around him, returning the hug. "Harry?" he heard his father ask, gently rubbing his back. "Really, what's wrong?"

"I had a bad dream," Harry said, thinking of the only way to describe the last time he'd seen his real father, alive and breathing. Just before he had stopped both those things.

"Just now?"

"I dreamed Uncle Justin killed you."

"What?" The wizard could hear the surprise in his father's tone. Malcolm pulled back a little to study Harry. "What made you think about him after all this time?"

"I dunno," Harry shrugged. His eyes traveled downward and saw a small ring encircling his father's pinkie. A silver piece with a blue stone in the middle. The ring that his uncle had taken. "Bad memories," he added, half to himself.

"You only met the man twice," his father mused. "Guess he made a strong impression on you if you can even remember him after all these years." Harry mutely nodded. "You feel okay to get up?" Malcolm asked. "Floor's kind of killing my knees."

"Yeah, yeah, sorry," Harry scrambled to his feet, ignoring the slight dizzy spell he got from getting up too quickly. Once upright, he got a better look at his surroundings, confirming that his office had now been converted into what looked like a magic shop. Where he'd shoved in wooden tables and cabinets, were now glass display cases and shelves filled with random knick-knacks for sale. The entire living room area was cleaned of his couches, leaving room for large mannequins, modeling stage magic-wear. A curtain obscured a view down the hallway, making the space seem smaller. But despite the cut quarters, the place looked cleaner than it had ever been.

"Maybe you shouldn't drive," Malcolm suggested, catching the still bewildered look on Harry's face as he surveyed the area. "Leave your keys here. You can pick 'em up later tonight."

"No, I'm fine," Harry insisted.

"Harry. Keys." The wizard grinned slightly at the parental tone, soaking it in for the moment. He stuck his hands in his jeans, feeling for the Jeep's keys and found his pockets empty. "Your jacket's on the counter," Malcolm directed. "Don't think you're going to get out of giving them to me with that cheap trick," he said with a wry smile.

There was only one jacket slung over one of the glass counters near the front. It was a black leather number that felt amazingly supple and expensive in Harry's hand. This was his jacket? Gamely, he stuck a hand into one of its deep pockets and withdrew a wallet and a set of keys. Only they weren't the plain keys to the Jeep, but rather one of those automatic keys that could unlock or start a car at the press of a button. While Harry gaped at it, his father plucked them from his hand.

"You can get these after dinner tonight," his father instructed. "7 o'clock. Don't be late. It's your turn to bring the dessert."

"Right…7..." Harry repeated. He continued to stand in the middle of the store, holding his unrecognizable jacket and wallet.

Seeing his son's hesitation at leaving, Malcolm gave an assuring smile. "Dream still freaking you out?"

"Kinda," Harry agreed, thinking on how everything was sort of freaking him out, though not to the degree they should be.

"Don't worry, Harry. Your uncle's gone. And even if he wanted to, I don't think he even could come back from the dead."

* * *

Against the risk of having his father soon insisting on calling for a doctor should his strange behavior continue, Harry walked out of his office. Or rather, his father's magic shop as the sign clearly read. Outside, Chicago looked about the same with the diner still across the street. Instead of a battered Jeep parked outside, however, there was now a sleek looking black model that looked like it belonged with the high-tech set of keys Harry had found in his jacket.

_That can't be my car. I try to open it and the thing would explode.  
_

Not that he would have a chance to experiment now, seeing as how his father had commandeered the keys. Realizing he was without transport, Harry considered his options and found that like his other reality, he would need to take a cab. Digging back into his pockets, the wizard extracted his wallet. Inside it, he saw something he'd genuinely never seen in his life.

A wad of cash. And it was apparently his.

The driver's license Harry found in his wallet had given him an address that wasn't too far from his office. But the wizard had hailed a cab nonetheless to make a detour before going there. At first, Harry wasn't exactly sure what he'd ask Mrs. Finley. Then upon reflection, he knew he'd probably ask her something along the lines of "Why and how in hell did you put me in this alternate reality where Dad's alive and I'm some rich sports car driver?"

The wizard just wasn't sure what he wanted her answer to be.

But peering out the cab window at the address he remembered as being Mrs. Finley's Laundromat, he realized he wouldn't be getting an answer at all. Where the landromat had stood was now a vacant storefront, boarded up and condemned by the city.

* * *

Harry's apartment felt completely foreign to him as he stepped in. And yet somehow, it still felt oddly like home.

It was still somewhat messy, like the way he'd always kept his space his entire life. Random articles of clothing were lazily sitting on furniture. Only the clothing and furniture appeared to be of higher quality. The living area was spacious with even a non-working fireplace whose mantle held a few photographs. Picking one up, Harry saw himself as he was at 22. Only his father was standing next to him, having aged those previous 11 years when he should have been deceased. Malcolm Dresden had a proud arm around his much taller son's shoulders as the young man smiled into the camera, holding what looked like a diploma.

_I graduated from college? _

As if to answer his unspoken question, a framed diploma stared at him from the mantle wall. Letting him know that not only had he graduated, but with honors.

Putting the photo back down, the wizard opened one door that led into a normal looking bedroom and then another which led him into what appeared to be his study. Bookshelves lined three of the walls with a desk crammed against the door he'd just opened. Stepping in, Harry nearly back peddled when he saw the laptop that was casually sitting on the cherry wood desk.

It was black. Sleek. And very electronic looking.

_I…OWN that?_

The wizard gingerly walked in, keeping his distance from the computer out of habit. Examining the bookshelves, he found not one book that was remotely related to magic, spells or potions. Nor could he find any book that looked like it was published before 1985. The last shelf against his desk featured a line of paperbacks that all had similar looking spines. The main similarity being that each one had his own name stamped on it.

Pulling one out, Harry saw the glossy cover with an illustration of a man in a trench coat, smoking a cigarette. An eye-catching font scrawled the novel's title across the top, followed by once again, Harry's own name, indicating him as the writer. Glancing at his desk again, Harry saw a pile of papers next to the laptop that looked suspiciously like manuscript pages.

_I'm…an author…_The book in his hand eagerly added to his thought as the wizard noticed the additional type at the top of the cover. _I'm a New York Times bestselling author…._

Harry shook himself a little as he took in the new information. No longer being in the vicinity of his father, Harry felt his more logical senses returning as his mind finally ordered him to think clearly on what was going on.

"Okay, snap out of it, Dresden," he ordered himself aloud. "You're not rich and you're not a writer. You've never written anything in your life. You got a C in English freshman year. You're not a writer. You're a wizard!"

Shelves of books stared back at Harry in polite silence at his outburst. "Mrs. Finley did something to put me in this reality," he reasoned, talking to thin air. "She must have put me here when I told her I wanted to be…"

A thought that Harry in hindsight knew should have been immediate, only now just drifted into his mind. With controlled movements, he carefully placed the book in his hand on his desk, walking back two paces. Standing across the room, he lifted a hand toward it, summoning the object.

Nothing happened.

Harry tried again and on the second try realized he no longer had that churning feeling of power and magic that had come to him as easily as breathing since he'd turned eight. Harry flexed his hand. The book stayed stationary.

Harry was normal. Just as he'd wished.


	3. Chapter 3

Soon after entering his apartment and taking a quick survey of the area, Harry got down to putting his detective skills to work. Every drawer, every cabinet and every closet was flung open as he ran through the last 30 some years of his life based on old letters, photo albums and any kind of paper trail he could find.

_Looks like I'm a packrat in this life too_.

But none of Harry's intense research inside the apartment turned up anything monumental. It merely filled in the history of where this life had come true instead of the one he'd known. There were old shoe boxes filled with postcards and random souvenirs that Harry recognized as having collected around the country when he used to tour with his father. But instead of abruptly ending when he'd turned 11, the memories continued on with his father as a firm fixture. From what the wizard could gather, they'd stopped touring around the time Harry had gone to high school, finally settling in Chicago. A specific search showed that there was still only one photograph of his mother, the one he knew from his other life.

_She's still dead_, Harry realized as he rifled through a drawer full of legal papers and found nothing else from her.

Based on what legal documents he could find, Harry saw he'd actually bought the storefront for his father to open up the magic shop, having somehow saved up enough money. There were random newspaper clippings stuffed in between Harry's old tax returns that were reviews of his novels. He found ones dating back almost 7 years, hailing his first book as "the debut of the next Raymond Chandler." All the other reviews he found were of similar praise. The old bank statements Harry found shoved into the first drawer of his desk showed figures he had only seen in his previous life when dreaming.

After some hesitation, the wizard decided to go for broke and turned on his laptop. He stared in utter fascination as the device obediently lit up and automatically launched and loaded his emails. When he put a finger to the touchpad, nothing happened, other than the browsing arrow appearing. It was a painstakingly slow process as Harry navigated his computer, expecting any minute for the thing to blow up. In the end, all he found were copies of his old manuscripts and several emails from his editor saying she was eagerly awaiting the revised book.

There was not a scrap of information about the wizarding world at large anywhere in his place.

Moving away from his desk, Harry wandered into his living room and saw the disaster area he'd created with his research. _At least the place looks closer to my old place now._ He sat down heavily on his very plush sofa and tried to line up his thoughts.

"Okay," he said aloud. "Not everything is different. My mother's still dead. So's Uncle Justin." Harry mulled it over. "That's it. Everything else is different." He eyed a pen sitting on his coffee table and tried to summon it with no success. Harry stared at his hand as if it were a foreign object. Having had his abilities as far back as he could remember, suddenly not having them was disturbing. "I feel like my arm's gone," he murmured. "And I'm talking to myself now," he added, shaking his head. "I'm talking to…"

_Bob_

Abruptly, Harry looked around as if he expected to find the decorated skull buried somewhere under the mess he'd created. But it made sense that in this life, he was no longer the owner of the cursed spirit. He hadn't found anything in his apartment that gave any clues as to what happened after his uncle died. There wasn't even anything to indicate how or when his uncle had passed away. If his father hadn't mentioned it, he would have never known.

But obviously if Uncle Justin was dead, the skull would have passed onto someone else. Only Harry had no idea how to begin figuring out who. Wizards never left a paper trail. Everything was done with talking face to face.

_Did he leave us anything? What about the house? Did we try and claim anything? _Staring at his plain hand again, Harry realized that if he'd been born without any powers in this life, his uncle would have had very little interest in him. _He wouldn't have cared what happened to me. He would have left me alone. Left us alone_, Harry pieced together. _Dad's alive because Uncle Justin wasn't after me. And I never killed Uncle Justin._

Harry curled his fingers into a loose fist as he thought on this. Despite his uncle never having killed his father, thus never giving Harry a reason to retaliate, Justin Morningway was still dead. It seemed to be his uncle's fate in any life to meet with an early end. So where was Bob's skull? If his uncle didn't leave behind a proper will than the skull would have been left open for someone to claim it. And Harry doubted the Council would have contacted Justin's non-magical nephew to put in his bid.

The wizard got back to his feet and paced slowly around the clutter in his apartment. If he hoped to return back to his own reality, the only one who'd be able to help him figure out how would be Bob. And currently, he had no means of tracking the ghost.

_I can't even track, period, _Harry realized. _I can't do any spells. I can't make any potions. _A slight panic gripped the former wizard as he realized just how crippled he was now. _But…crippled against what? No demons are attacking me. No wardens trying to cut off my head. No vampires. No supernatural anything breaking down my door threatening me. _It was then that Harry comprehended that as ordinary as he'd become, his life had also been scaled down to match it. He didn't have any powers and currently, he didn't need them.

"I can't just live here," Harry protested to himself. "I'm supposed to be a wizard. I'm supposed to be able to..." Impotently, he flexed his fingers with no results. "This isn't my life. This isn't who I am." But even as he said it, he heard the voice of temptation whisper to him.

_It can be. It already is. You can try._

* * *

"Hey, right on time!" Judging by the surprise in his father's voice, Harry guessed he was habitually late to things. There was another thing he could chalk up to remaining the same. "Are those cinnamon rolls in your hands?" asked Malcolm, the surprise only rising.

As instructed, Harry had brought dessert for dinner with his father. As a child, he had clear memories of his father loving the rolls that were normally put aside as breakfast foods for most people rather than dessert. "Yeah," he said, holding them up. "You…still like them, don't you?"

"I love 'em, but what's the occasion? You're always after me about eating healthier."

"I do?" Harry blurted out, incredulously before he could stop himself. "I mean…yeah, I do," he amended, quickly. "But what's life without a little risk?" He held the box toward his father with a smile.

Taking the offered rolls, Malcolm returned the grin. "I knew I raised you well."

Either by freak coincidence or perhaps due to Malcolm's culinary repertoire never advancing much since Harry's childhood, dinner for them was the same lasagna that Harry remembered eating the night before his father's supposed heart attack. The top was slightly burnt as he recalled it always being. And there was a liberal use of basil, his father's favorite herb. The taste was something so particularly a Malcolm Dresden creation and Harry had never eaten anything so wonderful in his entire adult life.

"Did you eat lunch?" Malcolm asked with a raised eyebrow as he watched his son practically shoveling the food into his mouth.

"Not really. I had a weird day," he replied between mouthfuls.

"How's your head?"

"It's fine," Harry assured, scraping the last of the pasta from his plate.

"Well, it did you some good," said Malcolm. "You're on time for dinner. You bring cinnamon rolls. Maybe I should have you fall from ladders more often."

"I can still take those rolls back, you know."

Malcolm shook his head. "Sorry, Harry. They're mine now. Nothing gets between me and them. You may be my kid, but we're talking about cinnamon rolls, here. I'll fight you if I have to."

"I can still offer a healthy alternative," Harry continued, as if not having heard his father. "How about rice cakes?" he suggested with an evil look. "Rice cakes are good for you."

"Not if I kill myself first to avoid them."

Both men burst out laughing and Harry felt a warmth spread throughout his chest. He knew that in this life, he probably joked with his father all the time. But it had been something missing in his own life for so many years that it both amazed and touched him that he could still pick it up so naturally after so long.

"Fine, you win," Harry relented.

"You say that like there was a choice."

"Don't push it," he warned. Getting to his feet, Harry grabbed his plate and moved to take his father's.

Malcolm's eyes widened a little. "You're doing the dishes?"

"Yeah, you cooked so I'll clean."

"Harry, you're really making a great case for head injuries," Malcolm chuckled, getting up to follow his son. "You wash, I'll dry."

Time passed where the only sounds were that of glasses and plates clinking. The air was relaxed and Harry lost himself to the wonderfully mundane task of washing dishes next to his father. He'd hated doing dishes as a child, but now he wished for there to be a mountain of dirty plates, if only to hold onto this feeling of contentment.

"You okay about your dream from earlier?" Malcolm asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Hmm? Oh..yeah," Harry answered. A vague sense of guilt crept up in his mind as he thought about what he should be doing, which was trying to get answers rather than passing the time. But he allowed a few more moments of silence to pass as he quietly kept his hands submerged in the soapy water before saying, "Actually, dad, I thought a little more about Uncle Justin."

Malcolm took a dripping dish from his son's hand and began to wipe it. "What about him?"

"I don't know. Just…how he was mom's only brother and he barely saw us."

"He was never happy about your mom and me getting together," said Malcolm. The blue eyes darkened a little at the memories. "He was never a good influence. Got your mother involved in things that weren't any of his or her business. I was actually glad when he stayed away after your mother died."

"But I did meet him a couple of times." Harry tried to phrase it more as a statement than as the question he was asking.

Malcolm shrugged. "He'd asked and well…he was your mother's brother. She loved him. It felt wrong closing him off completely." Taking another dish, the former magician gave his son a small smile. "But he liked you, Harry. He was just a busy man."

"Dad, I don't care what he thought," Harry replied, quickly. "I mean, it doesn't really matter now. He's gone."

"Right," Malcolm agreed, stacking the dried dish on top of the rest. "The world he lived in…it just wasn't something that involved us anymore after your mother died."

"Right," Harry copied. "So, who lives at his house now?" he asked as casually as possible. He glanced over to see the frown on his father's face.

"Ms. Ellery. You met her, Harry. Remember she called us after she bought the house to give us some of your mother's things she found in the attic?"

"Oh, yeah, right." Harry shook his head in a vain attempt to wave off the look of concern his father was giving him. "She bought the house…from us?" The wizard desperately hoped his guess was correct.

To his relief, his father only wiped his damp hands on a new cloth. "The place was huge. It's not like we were ever going to live there. It made sense someone like her should take it."

Harry was sure that his father was talking about wizards when he said 'someone like her', though for whatever reason, he was avoiding saying the word. But Harry pushed that aside for now as he processed the new information. So his uncle had left them the house. But they'd turned right around and sold it. So what about all the things inside of the house? Stealing a look at the older Dresden, Harry decided questioning him about a decorated skull wasn't going to go over well at the moment.

"I wouldn't mind seeing the place again," said Harry, nonchalantly. "Just to see where mom grew up and all."

"What brought this on?" Malcolm asked.

Harry shrugged, unconsciously looking exactly like his father only moments before. "You know what they say. A person gets nostalgic in their older age."

Malcolm snorted. "Harry, you're not even 40. You're a kid."

"Am not."

"Oh, how could I have made THAT mistake," Malcolm laughed at Harry's response. "But if you really want to, why don't you give Ms. Ellery a call? She was a nice lady. She'll probably let you walk around."

Harry nodded, telling himself with a small amount of pleasure that it was something that would have to wait until the morning. Right now, dinner wasn't over just yet. Shaking off the last of the soapy water from his fingers, Harry rolled down his shirt sleeves and gave his father a smile. "How about those cinnamon rolls?"


	4. Chapter 4

After dinner, Harry hung around as long as he could before it was obvious his continued presence would be deemed as odd. Malcolm after studiously observing his son's motor skills deemed it safe to return Harry's car keys to him.

It wasn't so much that Harry didn't enjoy driving the unfamiliar vehicle. It just felt strange. For most of his adult life, the wizard had been used to operating his Jeep. His deeply temperamental Jeep that almost always refused to give into Harry's navigations unless the wizard yanked at the steering wheel or pound at the gas pedal. But now he was behind the wheel of a car that practically drove itself. The slightest nudge of his hand and the car would be doing a wide sweep. Harry thought he could get used to this.

A revisit to his now disarrayed desk found him a box stuffed with business cards and slips of paper, one of which that had the name and number of an Elena Ellery, scrawled in a handwriting that Harry recognized as his own. Staring at the paper, the wizard felt a vague recognition of at least the last name. If Elena was a sorceress herself than Harry might have met her in his other life. Or at least heard of her through Bob or Morgan. Being an outcast left the wizard with a very short list of people willing to interact with him. And yet, the name Ellery only hung in Harry's periphery and try as he might, he couldn't put a face to the name.

Left with little else to do until the morning brought him a respectable time to call Elena, Harry decided to read one of his own novels. From the synopsis given on the back of his debut book, it was a detective novel that starred a P.I. who would soon move onto being the featured hero of all his other books. Harry got halfway through it before he put it down. It wasn't that he felt it was bad. In fact, he rather enjoyed the writing. It was descriptive enough to immerse him in the world that was being created, but managed to remain brisk with the action continuously moving forward.

Harry had no idea how any version of himself could be capable of making something like that. Nowhere in his own childhood had he ever had the desire to write a story or even come up with an idea for a book. His own life seemed too difficult and extraordinary to take time out from it to make up some other reality. But maybe it was possible that he had this talent inside that had never been nurtured or even explored by himself due to his concentration on learning magic.

The wizard returned the book to his shelf next to the others. He couldn't finish it because in some bizarre way, he felt jealous of this version of himself. Or maybe a little bitter that he was seeing a potential for himself that never got recognized. At least not in the world he truly belonged.

* * *

The fact that a personal assistant answered the phone when Harry called, gave the wizard a good look as to what to expect. Still, his own father had said Elena Ellery was a nice woman and the new owner of the former Morningway Estate agreed to meet with Harry that afternoon once Harry eventually got transferred to her.

Not needing any directions, Harry navigated his purring vehicle to his uncle's old house. As he pulled up to the property, he saw that the previously plain iron gates were now decorated with large double brass E's in the middle. He didn't see an intercom or a security camera of any sort, but the doors opened immediately when his car got to the front. A man was standing outside of the house as Harry parked.

"Welcome, Mr. Dresden," greeted the formally attired gentleman. "I trust you had a pleasant journey."

"Uh..yeah, it was great," Harry replied with a bemused smile, thinking on how it was a fifteen minute drive from his apartment to the house. He recognized the dulcet tones as that of the assistant he'd spoken to on the phone earlier.

Not picking up on the amusement or maybe ignoring it, he ushered Harry inside with a sweep of his hand. "Ms. Ellery extends her sincere apologies, but she is running a little late in her meeting this afternoon. She begs that you wait for her in the library."

"That's fine," Harry agreed, taking in the look of the house. For the most part, it was the same house that he'd always remembered, only the objects inside were now different or in different places. The hallway he'd traveled through the first time he'd arrived at his uncle's as a newly orphaned boy was now heavily decorated with several portraits of various men and women. Windows were flung open, giving the space an airy quality that had never been the case when he'd lived there. Fresh flowers were on every available table top and though it was only faint, Harry could hear the bustle and movements of footsteps somewhere around the house. The entire estate felt alive, moving, busy. And so different from the nearly museum-like atmosphere his uncle had so loved to hold up.

The library, at least, remained looking more or less the same. Only it looked more ordered and certainly cleaner. "Would you care for some refreshments while you wait, sir?" asked the man, formally.

"No, I'm good. But thanks…" Harry trailed off, hoping for a name.

"Very good then, sir. Do ring if you require anything," he said, indicated a large bell pull in the corner which was a new addition. He smoothly exited as he'd come in.

Harry blinked at the cold efficiency. "Okay, then."

Left alone, he wandered around, noting that most of the books he'd remembered from his childhood were still on the shelves. But all the table tops in this room were empty of any books, flowers, dust and most importantly, a decorated skull.

The curtains were drawn to the French doors, which seemed a little odd considering the openness of the rest of the house. Pulling the velvet material back, Harry peered out. There he saw the biggest change Elena Ellery must have made to the property. Instead of the open gardens that led into the woods behind the property, a huge section had been leveled of all foliage to make way for what looked like a mausoleum in the middle of the green. It was a dome-like structure with marble doors that appeared deceptively huge, though Harry could tell it was barely 7 feet in diameter. It stood with cold forbearance, almost glaring back at the wizard with a gloomy stare.

"The hell is that?" Harry muttered.

"Who're you?"

Startled, Harry whipped his head around at the question to see someone standing at the library door. The wizard blinked at the small figure, recognizing the face, but having to take a few minutes to place him. "Scott?" he finally asked.

The boy frowned. "Yeah, that's me. Are you my tutor for today?"

The blond hair that Harry remembered as covering half of Scott Sharp's face was now cut severely close to his skull, giving him a neat, tidy look. The boy who he had once rescued from a skin walker and who'd looked to him for help and comfort as the magical world had begun to descend on him now stared at him with a large amount of wariness. Scott didn't look that much older since Harry had last seen him in his own reality, but the boy appeared aged for some reason. Seeing the questioning frown, Harry broke out of his shocked state, remembering that in this reality, Scott most likely didn't know him.

"No, no," Harry answered the question. "I'm just waiting for Ms. Ellery."

"Oh." His gaze remained suspicious. "But if you're not here to tutor me, how do you know my name?"

Harry smiled to himself. Even in this world, Scott was as observant as ever. "I know your mom a little. We met once or twice. She talked about you a lot."

He had said it to put Scott at ease, but it only seemed to put the boy on a higher alert. "You know my mom?" he asked. "When's the last time you saw her?"

"Not for awhile," said Harry, frowning as Scott quickly closed the door of the library as it to give them more privacy.

"When was the last time you talked to her?" Scott inquired, his eagerness fighting against his suspicions. "Do you know where she is?"

"What? Don't you live with her?"

At that, disappointment filled the boy's small face as he grimaced. "Never mind. You must be one of her old friends," he stated with a nearly accusatory tone. Stiffly, he slapped a few notebooks he'd been holding in his arms. "I have to do some homework before my lessons," he said with extra volume, indicating he was dismissing Harry. Maybe not from the room, but from his immediate consciousness.

"Do…do you live here now?" Harry asked, rolling right over the dismissal.

Scott sat down at a desk and flipped open his notebook. "No," he answered, shortly. "I just do my lessons here." He glanced up at Harry with a studying eye. "You're not one of them, are you?"

"One of…"

"A wizard. You don't do magic and stuff."

"Um…well…no, I don't," Harry admitted, realizing for now it was true.

"Then what are you seeing Ms. Ellery for?"

"This used to be my uncle's house. I came by for a visit."

"Oh." Looking already disinterested, Scott went back to writing in his notebook. Having the advantage of height, Harry was able to peer over Scott's hunched form to see him writing out the ingredients for a transportation potion in neat, precise handwriting. A small smile quirked on the wizard's face as he recognized the lesson plan.

"So, how do you like your studies?" he asked.

Scott shrugged. "You wouldn't understand them." There was an aloof formality to the boy's manner that seemed so foreign when Harry could so easily recall how energetic and unexpectedly emotional Scott could become.

"I don't know about that," replied Harry to Scott's judgment. "I was shown a few things when I was your age."

"Mr. Wolf says that any man can see magic. Only few can actually do it," Scott recited, not looking up from his work.

"Mr. Wolf?"

"He's my regular teacher."

Unless Bob had undergone a completely different name change, he apparently wasn't Scott's instructor. So if the ghost wasn't here then where was he? Harry watched a little longer in silence as the boy continued to robotically list out another set of ingredients. "You come here a lot?"

"I have lessons every afternoon," said Scott. "Mrs. Fielding lives two blocks from here."

"Mrs. Fielding?"

"I live with her now." Scott looked up from his work, as if to gauge Harry's response to that. When the wizard only stared back at him in confusion, he returned to his writing.

A few more minutes ticked by where the only sound was Scott's pencil scratching on the paper. Deciding to give it a try, Harry asked with as much off handedness as he could manage. "Hey, whenever you've been here, did you happen to see a fancy looking skull in the house?"

Stopping his movements, Scott looked up at Harry with wide eyes. "You know about that?" he asked, half in awe. "How do you about it?"

"I told you," said Harry. "I saw some things when I was your age."

Scott seemed to be giving the wizard more consideration before remembering he'd been asked a question. A small shudder almost imperceptivity ran through his thin body that Harry picked up on. "Ms. Ellery keeps the skull in the mausoleum in the gardens. A ghost haunts it."

"Yeah, I know," said Harry.

Scott's regard for Harry seemed to rise a little. "You've seen it? I've never seen the ghost, but I can feel it coming from there," he said, gesturing toward the French doors. "It creeps me out, man." For the first time since their encounter in this world, the wizard could see the Scott from his own reality, peeking through.

Harry gave him a grin. "I'm sure he's not as creepy as he seems. Maybe if you talk to him-"

"TALK to him?" Scott interrupted with an incredulous look. "Don't you know anything? He got cursed to be trapped in his own skull. That's like capital punishment number one. Everyone knows he did something really, REALLY bad." Scott shook his head, looking back down at his notes. "Ms. Ellery keeps him in the mausoleum so he doesn't scare anyone in the house."

Before Harry could reply to that, the door of the library opened and the unnamed assistant from earlier walked through with a grey-haired man behind him. "Mr. Dresden, Ms. Ellery will see you now," he announced. "Your tutor has arrived, Mr. Sharp."

Immediately, Scott straightened in his seat and folded his hands on top of his notebook. "Hi, Mr. Wolf," he greeted, politely.

The aforementioned Wolf stepped around the assistant to approach his pupil, not sparing Harry even a glance.

Seeing the assistant wave a beckoning arm toward him, Harry moved to leave. "It was nice talking to you, Scott," he said before going. The boy looked at him silently. "Good luck with everything." Harry glanced at Wolf who only now seemed to register Harry's presence and deemed it annoying.

Giving Scott a last smile that the boy did not return, Harry left to meet with the new owner of the Morningway Estate.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry was led into the study that had once been his Uncle Justin's. In his reality, the wizard remembered the ornate fireplace on the side, the large wooden desk with the stately carvings etched in the front and the dark wood bookcases that lined the walls, giving the entire area a formidable feel.

Now, the space was bleached of all color. The original dark wood had been replaced with white birch, the floors painted over with a sparkling white finish and the furniture to match. Amazingly, despite how easily a scuff mark could be seen along the white area there was not a single stain. The only color to be found in the room was Elena Ellery herself.

The small woman rose to her feet from behind her desk to greet Harry as he entered. Her short stature matched the thin-boned quality of her body and face where the skin was stretched across so tautly, it gave her an ageless quality. Her auburn brown hair was cut in a sexless page boy style, only adding to the androgynous look of her grey suit. But far from severe, the hand that clasped Harry's was warm and inviting, as was the smile that lit up her features.

"Mr. Dresden, I do apologize for the wait," she said immediately. "The day simply ran away from me."

"It's fine, honestly," Harry assured, sitting down in the chair he was ushered to. "I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me on short notice."

"I must admit I was a little surprised to hear from you," said Elena, smoothing back her already neat locks. "You and your father seemed so eager to be done with this place."

Harry shifted a little in his seat, thinking on why his alternate self and his father would have been in such a hurry to get rid of the house. He supposed bad memories. Or maybe they had both been eager to just on with their lives and away from a world that in this reality, had nothing to do with them. "We were at the time," he conceded. "But I think I've just been hit with a bout of nostalgia."

Elena nodded, her light eyes shining with a sympathy that seemed more expected than sincere. "Well, we have always appreciated yours and your father's discretion when it's come to our existence. And anything I can do to continue to facilitate a positive relationship, I would more than welcome."

The speech was diplomatic. A little forced, but then Harry hadn't been expecting any personal kindness. The fact that she was being friendly at all he considered a bonus. It did feel strange, though, being suddenly the person on the outside, looking in. In Elena he saw himself, a wizard exposing his powers to a regular person and depending on their prudence to keep from half the regular human world crashing down on them. Granted Harry had never been one to be discreet about his profession, but there had been once or twice where he'd considered his point blank advertisement to be a little troublesome.

"I just wanted to see the old house," said Harry, giving her a genial smile. "I like the changes you've made to the place. It feels very alive."

Elena gave him a genuinely pleased smile. "It's gotten very busy here of late. That probably has more to do with the sense of activity than any interior decorating I've done."

"Yeah, I met your student."

"Oh yes, Scott Sharp. A very clever boy. And talented. I was more than happy to ensure he received a proper education."

"He mentioned he no longer lives with his mother. That was kinda surprising," Harry mentioned with as detached an air as he could.

"Did you know Sheryl Sharp?" Elena inquired, starting a little.

"I met her a couple of times," Harry ventured. "I didn't know her well, but I remembered she loved her son. It's a little strange to think she'd let him live away from her."

A small grimace appeared on Elena's thin face. "Yes, well, I'm afraid Mrs. Sharp was faced with matters she was not well-equipped to deal with."

"Meaning?"

"Well, Mr. Dresden. Scott is a very special child. But he's also someone whose powers must be properly nurtured. Dealt with. As his adopted mother, Mrs. Sharp found it a little difficult to handle everything once Scott's powers began to manifest themselves."

"What does that mean?" asked Harry.

"She saw reason, Mr. Dresden. And gave over his care to us. It was quite simple," said Elena, smoothly.

Harry returned the frown. Something about this felt wrong. He remembered Sheryl's barely contained exhaustion and worry at Scott's odd behavior when the boy had first come to him for assistance. But he also remembered how clearly she was resolved to be there through whatever danger or hardship that awaited him. She would lay down her life to protect her son and to stay with him. She wouldn't just give him away. But her abandonment it did explain the dullness he now saw in Scott.

Sharply, Elena clapped her hands together, as if to cleanse away the dark subject with a brisk snap. "Anyway, I believe you said you wished to get a tour of the place? I have set aside some time to give you a personal walk through if you wish."

Nodding, Harry rose to follow her as she directed him out of her study. They moved back down the hallway as before and the wizard felt the painted eyes of the portraits staring down at him. Noticing his reaction, Elena gave him a smile. "The Ellery Legacy," she explained. "Every member of my family had their portrait done. We are a very old, distinguished name. My father would have been much distressed had not displayed them prominently."

"Very nice," Harry offered, feeling uneasy as a particularly dark eyed visage frowned down on him. If the Ellerys were as old and powerful as Elena claimed than Harry wondered why the name sounded only vaguely familiar to him. He imagined in his world he would have met the counterparts. But he put aside the thought for now, wanting to direct the tour to the only place he really wanted to see. "I saw you built a mausoleum in the gardens."

"Yes, it was the first thing I had set up when I purchased the house."

"I'd like to take a look in there, if you don't mind."

Not ceasing in her brisk walk, Elena glanced over her shoulder at the taller wizard and gave him a mild smile. "Oh, I don't think you'll enjoy yourself in there, Mr. Dresden. The mausoleum is purely for protective measures."

"Because of the skull?"

Abruptly, the woman stopped in her tracks, allowing a few moments to pass before turning to look at Harry. "You know about that?" she inquired. Her voice was restrained, politely detached, though Harry could see it was taking some effort.

"My uncle showed it to me once," Harry explained. He could tell Elena was struggling to not accuse him of lying flat out.

Instead, she unconsciously swept back her hair once more in a flippant gesture, attempting to alleviate the tension that had just been created. "How very strange of him," she mused. "To show a young boy something like that."

"I think he felt in a different world I might have benefited from having the ghost trapped inside as a teacher," tried Harry.

A knowing half smile, half grimace colored Elena's features. "Your uncle was a very eccentric personality," she concluded with a shred of diplomacy. "But I'm afraid I do things a little differently now. And the skull along with the spirit trapped within has been placed inside that structure for good reason, Mr. Dresden."

"Because of his curse?"

"It seems your uncle was very forthcoming in introducing you to such a dark aspect of our history," Elena stated, sounding a little accusatory. "I know he felt using the ghost of the necromancer was an asset to him, but I prefer to take more cautionary measures with my tenure as the skull's keeper." As she spoke, the sorceress placed a benevolent hand over her own heart as if taking a pledge. "I believe it my duty to ensure no one comes to harm with prolonged exposure to such darkness. Hopefully, the mausoleum will serve as the skull's final resting place for a good long time."

"It's just empty in there? No one ever goes in?" Harry asked, thinking of Bob spending the last twenty years in solitary confinement, unable to move past the walls of the structure and bereft of any kind of outside contact.

"I survey the inside from time to time," Elena assured. "Again, it is my duty as the skull's owner to keep the spirit placated until I turn it over to a successor."

Harry tried to focus in on the logistics of Elena's thinking and the fact that in this world, he had no idea what Bob or Hrothbert of Bainbridge, apparently, was like. But still he felt himself bristling a little at Elena's treatment and found himself having to make an effort to hold back a sharp reply.

Instead, he only gave her what he hoped was an understanding smile and allowed for the rest of the tour.

As they walked by the library again, Harry saw through the slightly ajar door Scott Sharp looking up briefly from his lessons, the boy's brown eyes following him for a moment as the wizard passed by.

* * *

After the tour, Harry bid Elena a polite farewell and returned to his car to drive home. The wizard expelled a puff of frustrated air at the visit that hadn't done much to help him in terms of figuring a way back home. He needed some sort of help of the magical variety to work himself out of this mess. He had no idea how to track down Mrs. Finley who he was sure wasn't even human.

It seemed he was stuck.

As Harry navigated his car back toward his apartment, the wizard nearly drove the vehicle into a pole when the unfamiliar sound of something shrill and insistent blasted out from his jacket pocket. Reaching in, he extracted a piece of flat metal that resembled a hand mirror. It was only after staring at it with one eye still on the road that Harry realized it was a cell phone. His cell phone.

He'd only ever used one once in his life and that was back when the things had still been the size of a regular handheld. And even then the contraption had freaked out and all but melted in his hand. As he fumbled with the luxuriously flat electronic, the phone continued to ring impatiently. But by the time Harry had figured out which was the answer button, the caller had hung up. The small screen on the front indicated that he had one missed call before flashing back to dark.

"How do people use these things?" Harry muttered as he tossed it in the backseat. It continued to beep in the most annoying way as he drove the rest of the way home.

* * *

As Harry pulled into the front of his building, his mind split its attention between thinking about how he was going to get a chance to see Bob in this reality while also dwelling on Sheryl Sharp's abandonment of her son. The latter just didn't make any sense and the wizard considered trying to track her down to find out from the woman herself why she would do such a thing.

But how was he going to do that? Even if he had the means, he couldn't do a tracking spell. Busy in thought, he nearly missed it when someone called out to him as he absently pulled his keys from his pocket.

"Hey, Harry!"

Whipping around at the voice, the wizard got a three second window to process before he found himself staring at a familiar figure.

"Murphy?"

The lieutenant was just crossing the street to reach him on his landing, a tired looking grin on her face as she joined him. "Uh…Murphy, hi," he greeted tentatively, trying not to look too out of place as he spoke to her. If he wasn't an investigator in this world, how did he know her?

At the use of her last name, the petite woman raised a bemused eyebrow. "Hello to you too, _Dresden_," she returned. "What's with the last names? You practicing your detective's dialogue?" she asked.

While Harry heard the teasing question, the only thing he was noticing was that Murphy was standing incredibly close, practically leaning against him with a familiarity that was a little unnerving.

"Uh…yeah, you know…practicing," he said, lamely.

"You feeling alright? You look a little out of it."

"I'm fine. Great, yeah." He tried not to start when Murphy took his arm in an easy gesture.

"That's good," she said with a warm smile. "The day's been insane. Station was a nuthouse. Our dinner's been the one light at the end of the tunnel."

_Oh my god_, Harry's brain and mouth dried up as he began to piece together what was going on. Any doubts he might have had as to his suspicions were quickly killed when Murphy leaned up and kissed him. While Harry had kissed her once before, it had been under incredibly different circumstances. He'd been the instigator for one. And it had been for the benefit of a spell and all together a little awkward. But this kiss was one that let the wizard immediately that it was an act that happened very, very often between them. With great enthusiasm.

"Course we could always skip dinner," Murphy proposed in a low whisper, her dark eyes sparkling suggestively.

It took Harry a good minute to remember to keep breathing.


	6. Chapter 6

For those who had been waiting, an appearance from the ghost.

A Special Thanks to **AttilaTheNun** for being so kind as to leave me a review for literally every chapter I've posted so far. Truly, I appreciate them!

Also thanks to **Burnt Hamster** for the lovely words in the last review. I'm so glad you're enjoying this as well as my other Dresden Fics!

* * *

By nightfall, the bustling activity at the house had finally settled down. Everyone, other than the lady of the manor had departed, ready to return when the sun was back up and life re-entered the estate. When all was said and done, Elena Ellery was finally alone in her home. Just as she preferred.

The small woman leaned back in her white chair. With the day having passed, she lit herself a cigarette, a habit she'd more or less contended would be with her forever. Staring out her window, she could see herself in the reflective glass, the thin features looking pensive underneath the smoke. If she craned her head in just the right way, she could catch the very edge of the marble structure that lay in the gardens. Doing so now, she thought about her meeting today with Harry Dresden. Looking back it seemed logical that he would return to the house. But it still struck her as a little surprising. But perhaps given a little more time and any cooperation on her part, he would return to his own life.

For awhile, the only thing that moved was the smoke trailing up from her cigarette.

When it was nearly halfway gone, Elena stood and put it out in her ash tray. The sorceress straightened the front of her suit to go outside.

There was only one window in the mausoleum and it was built at an angle in the ceiling. At first Elena had been hesitant at allowing the opening, but had come to the conclusion that not giving the spirit any indication of the days passing would in the end, be counter productive. She had gone through great pains to make sure deep shelves were built into the circular walls of the tomb in order to allow a number of books to be housed inside. They were just duplicates of tomes she already had in her own library, ones she could do to spare. Only now she realized leaving the inventory unchecked for so long had been a mistake.

Despite all the talk of safety and protection, the doors to the mausoleum remained unlocked. Never had Elena thought anyone would voluntarily go in, other than herself and certainly, no one was going to come out. But she now reconsidered the notion as the marble panels silently gave way and she stepped through.

The inside was already aglow with the familiar golden light of writings in the air. Half the light died, however, as Elena moved through a set of hovering equations, making them shimmer and vanish.

"I was working on that," he stated from the corner.

The sorceress studied the remaining half of the spell still floating. "What use do you have of a Doom Box?" she asked. A slight sneer was on her face, though the ghost didn't bother to turn from his writing to acknowledge it.

"It keeps the mind busy," he only stated.

"You only have but time."

Silently, the ghost continued to write, letting the room light up a little more as symbols and sigils crowded the room. After a moment, he turned to look at her. "You require something of me?"

Elena found herself straightening a little, as if height would give her some sort of added advantage. In truth, she had all the advantage in the world over the cursed spirit. She was the keeper of his skull and yet whenever he looked at her, she felt small, frightened. She had no idea how her father had been able to stand being in the same room with it for so long. Grimly she wished the Council would just allow her to rid the world of the skull. But the ghost had been nothing but obedient as per his situation. There was no just cause, even though technically it was her right do whatever she wished with the artifact now that it was hers.

"I have no use of you," she said, coldly. "I have come for a book." With a purposeful stride, Elena walked without pause, moving straight through the standing specter. A chill bit into her bones as she passed through the figure. Unconsciously, she clasped the book she retrieved from the shelves close to her chest like a shield as she stood.

"That book will be of little use to you unless you take the Heinsmith Grimmoire for translations," the ghost said. He sounded disinterested and spoke as if merely pointing out a fact.

Elena held the book only closer to herself. "I have no plans on using it. I mean to keep the copy in my own library."

"As you say."

"You tempt me with the Heinsmith Grimmoire," she half asked with a frosty glare.

"I do nothing, mistress, other than remain as I am," the ghost replied.

Scowling, Elena forced her arms to drop, making herself lose the defensive posture. With wide strides, she walked across back toward the door. In her wake, the golden scribblings blurred and dissipated, drowning the room back in darkness.

"Return to your skull, ghost," she ordered. The doors closed silently behind her, leaving the pale figure alone.

* * *

_Get a grip,_ Harry ordered himself. Surreptitiously, the wizard stuck his head from around his kitchen area and saw Murphy rifling through his record collection, nursing her wine glass. Seeing her take a sip, Harry suddenly got an intense memory of the kiss they'd just shared out on his landing. _Don't go there. Don't go there! _

Returning to the sink, he banged the pasta strainer with more vigor, as if the noise would drown out his own thoughts. _Think sobering thoughts. Sobering thoughts,_ he commanded. Leaving the pasta alone for the moment, he returned to the sauce he'd been heating and tossed in a splatter of red wine for flavor before taking a huge swig of it straight from the bottle. On one hand, he saw that this latest discovery in his normal life as Harry Dresden, writer was far from terrible. So he and Murphy were in a relationship. He'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit he had fantasized about it in the past from time to time. But he couldn't feel comfortable with the idea of doing anything about it at this moment. It felt wrong. Almost like he was taking advantage of Murphy seeing as how he wasn't her Harry.

_But you are, _a stubborn voice insisted. _You said so yourself, you're stuck here so why not get used to the idea? _

Harry took another pull at the wine before slamming the bottle down. _No more wine, _he decided. _No more alcohol. It's impairing my judgment. I'm not going to take advantage of this. I'm not going to sleep with- stop going there!! _

"Harry? You okay?" Murphy called from the living room.

"Yeah, fine!" he called back, hearing himself sounding too chipper to be normal. "Everything's great!" _Oh, shut up, Dresden. _

"Do you need any help?"

_Yes, lots._ "No, I'm good." _Just…try and ignore your feelings,_ he advised himself. _Just relax. Keep your distance. This is going to be fine. You'll be fine. You've escaped skin walkers. You can do this. _

Keeping his distance from Murphy was easier said than done as the two of them sat down at Harry's relatively small table to eat their dinner. The only mercy came from the fact that Murphy's day had been enough of a mess so that at the moment, she wanted to unwind by talking.

"I feel like this city's going crazy," she sighed. "It's like Death's decided to make Chicago his personal hotspot in the last month. I had two more bodies turn up. Some bastard burned them alive. We had to get dental records to identify them." Catching herself, Murphy looked up at him with a sheepish look. Harry had never seen Murphy do sheepish before and for a second was mesmerized. "Sorry," she said. "We're eating."

"No, please, go ahead," Harry insisted. The talk of charred bodies was actually helping him not focus in too much on how nice she currently looked.

"The guy we don't have too much on. But the girl didn't even live near the warehouse where we found them," Murphy shook her head. "The entire thing…it's just draining."

"Sorry," he offered.

Murphy gave him a smile. "The day's ending well, though," she said, touching his hand. Harry tried to pass off him dropping his fork as a coincidental accident. "Are you okay? You've been acting a little strange."

Murphy's eyes narrowed in scrutiny, but Harry noticed it was less her patent "I'm a cop, don't try and step around me" look and more of a concerned "Is everything really okay?" look. He rarely got the latter directed toward him by his Murphy. It made for a nice change of pace.

"Yeah, no, things are fine," he waved off, quickly. "I just visited my uncle's old house today. Kind of threw me a little."

"Really? I thought you didn't like your uncle very much," said Murphy.

"I didn't. But, I kind of had this burst of nostalgia and suddenly I wanted to see it again." Now Murphy was giving him the "don't try and step around me" gaze. Soon, Harry found himself telling her about his encounter with Scott and his concern over what could have happened to make his mother leave him in the care of others. He largely omitted the part about Scott being a budding wizard, but surprisingly, Murphy didn't attempt to pry into that aspect of it and only offered up a few logical theories.

"Maybe it was just like that woman said. It got too much for Scott's mom to take care of him," she said.

"Yeah, but I met Sheryl before," insisted Harry. "I just can't imagine her doing something like that. She loved Scott."

"She might still love him. But sometimes it's not enough," Murphy replied, taking a drink from her glass. "It's lousy and it certainly made me want to kick my ex-husband in the teeth. But it happens sometimes."

"Maybe," Harry conceded, reluctantly.

Murphy gave him an appraising stare. "This really bothers you, doesn't it?"

"I hated seeing Scott unhappy," he admitted, knowing after he said it that it was true. He hated knowing what Scott was like and seeing that version crushed and replaced by this other person who was so relentlessly miserable.

"Well, let me see if I can find some information on Sheryl Sharp," Murphy offered. "Put your mind at ease."

Harry blinked. "Really? You'd do that?"

"Sure. Help a nice guy try and make a boy feel better. I'll just be racking up the karma points," she grinned.

The look Murphy was giving him was a little familiar, but at the same time alien. It was after a few moments that Harry realized it was a look of trust, unmarred by any sort of hesitation. Murphy trusted him, almost completely. However their relationship might have started, it was now strong. Perhaps even stronger than the relationship he had with the Murphy back in his own world. It made sense, Harry supposed. In this life, he would have no reason to hold back any secrets from Murphy. Of hiding who he really was or keeping her at a distance in fear whatever darkness stained him would leak out onto her.

In this world, he was the kind of person he'd want to be around her.

"Thanks, Murphy," he said, softly, feeling an odd mix of sadness that this wasn't something he could take with him in the end.

"Again with the last names," she shook her head in fond exasperation. "You must really be in writer mode."

"Anyone ever tell you lately that you're pretty awesome?"

The smile she gave him left Harry without a doubt that had he still been magical, he would have shorted out the lights in the entire building.

* * *

After dinner, Murphy left to go home, saying Anna would be waiting for her. And while Harry felt a little reluctant to let her go, he gave himself a mental ice bath and saw her out.

After watching Murphy drive off, Harry remained outside on his landing, allowing the chill of Chicago's fall to cut into the warmth he had left over from the wine and his date with Murphy. For just a few moments, he let himself relax and hold onto the feeling a little longer. And despite knowing it was wrong, he let his mind dream up a future where he'd remain just as he was, content and untroubled.

But before he could get a foothold on that dream, the sounds of shuffling steps drew his attention back to reality. The noise was coming somewhere within the bushes that stood on either side of his building's doorway, accompanied by wavering branches.

"Hello?" Harry said, squinting into the shadows cast down by the leaves. "I can hear you," he added. After a moment's pause, a small figure stepped out. "Scott?" The boy wasn't exactly dressed for the weather, having only a thin jacket over his sweater. But the fledgling wizard refused to show discomfort as he determinedly pushed his hands into his pockets. "What are you doing here?" Harry asked, going down the steps to reach him. Without thinking, he shrugged off his own coat and slung it over the boy's shoulders.

"I tracked you," Scott offered as a means of explanation, his teeth chattering a little. Dwarfed by Harry's outerwear, he looked even younger. From his own jacket, he pulled out a pair of sunglasses and the wizard was hit with a pungent smell. "It's a parano solution that let's me-"

"Yeah, the ant thing," Harry finished. "I know what it is. Come inside, it's freezing out here."

"See, HOW do you know this stuff?" Scott asked, as Harry pushed him through the door. The ends of Harry's coat dragged on the floor as he walked in. "You're not a wizard but you act like one. You're just a regular person, but you know about spells and you know about the ghost. And you're not even afraid."

"You stalked me down here at this time of the evening to ask me that?" Harry questioned. He had a sense of déjà vu from his own reality when Scott had tracked him down and barged into his home, wanting help. "Shouldn't you be home?"

"I should be with my mom," he answered. Seeing that he now had Harry's attention, Scott fixed him with a determined stare. "You know something about her, don't you?" At the older man's prolonged silence, he soldiered on. "I came home from school one day a year ago and she was in the kitchen with Mrs. Fielding. My mom told me I'd be living with her now. And that was it." He paused, giving Harry a chance to digest the information. "Does that sound right to you?"

Scott was gazing up at him and the wizard could tell the boy was trying to look nonchalant, almost business-like in his questioning. But in his dark eyes, Harry could see a kind of desperation and need to be told once and for all if his mother had truly abandoned him or if there was something else involved.

"No," Harry finally answered, truthfully. "It doesn't sound right."

Scott nodded and the wizard could see some small relief in his face. "Something's going on. And you know what it is. You came to the house for something."

Somewhere in the back of Harry's mind, he knew the dangers of telling Scott everything. But another part of him knew that if this Scott was anything like the other, he wouldn't simply leave. And there was an odd comfort to be had about finally telling someone the truth.

Harry gestured to his couch. "Sit down."


	7. Chapter 7

Harry patted himself on the back for not falling into the cliché of saying, "I come from an alternate universe" as an opener when explaining his situation to Scott. Instead he took Scott through the events that eventually led him to waking up in his storefront, which was no longer his storefront, but the shop of his supposed to be deceased father. About how he was now bereft of any magical abilities and that instead of being a wizardly investigator, he was now a mystery novelist. Completely normal.

"So, you come from an alternate universe," Scott summarized.

Harry sighed. "Well, it's more like this isn't the right universe. It shouldn't even exist, except this wish made it happen."

"How come you wished not to be a wizard anymore?" the boy asked, as if that was the most confusing part of Harry's story.

"I didn't mean it," he defended. "It was a spur of the moment thing. It just came out." Scott stared at him. "I'd had a bad month."

"So you can't do anything?" Scott questioned. "Not even move stuff?" Harry demonstrated by flexing his fingers at the mug of hot chocolate he'd given the younger wizard. The cup remained stationary. "That sucks. How're you going to get back?"

Harry always appreciated the repetition of an obvious question. "I need to find the woman. Mrs. Finley. I need to figure out what kind of demon or fairy or whatever I'm dealing with."

"There're too many wish granting creatures," Scott frowned. "Like hundreds. How're you going to narrow it down?"

"That's why I came to the house. I need to talk to the ghost that lives inside the mausoleum," said Harry.

The frown on Scott's face only deepened. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Because in my world, I work with him," Harry explained. "He knows just about everything there is to know about magic. If anyone can figure out how to get me back, it'll be him."

"You _work_ with the ghost?"

"He's a friend."

"Yeah, but that's in your world," Scott pointed out. "You're not friends in this one. How do you know he'll help you?"

Harry didn't know. In fact, it was the big flaw the wizard saw in his plan. But it was safe for him to conclude that he was completely out of options. He had no other choice, but to try and get help from Bob. Because no matter what kind of universe he was in, the one thing Harry could count on was that the ghost would always be a veritable goldmine of magical knowledge.

"You'll just have to trust me on this one," said Harry. "If I can just get into the mausoleum, it's my best shot at figuring out a way to get back."

Scott nodded, but didn't look entirely convinced at the plan. "If I help you, you'll help me find my mom?"

"I have a friend looking into your mom right now," Harry assured. "I won't leave until everything's been fixed."

"Okay," agreed Scott. "There's a spell that can get you on the grounds without Ms. Ellery spotting you," he said.

"What about getting inside the mausoleum?"

"It's never locked," said Scott. Seeing Harry's incredulous expression, the boy gave him a patient look. "No one goes in there other than Ms. Ellery. No one wants to. And nothing's going to leave so it's not locked. All you'll need is a potion to get into the gardens without anyone seeing. The ingredients for it are kind of expensive, though."

Harry smiled. "I never thought I'd say this, but money isn't going to be a problem."

* * *

The next day, Harry picked up Scott just around the corner from his school. The wizard noted with some surprise that despite his magical calling, Scott was still attending a regular public school.

"Ms. Ellery says it's good to keep strong roots with the world I came from," Scott explained, getting into the car. He paused before making a face. "It only means I get more homework."

It was just before 8am and the two had planned on gathering the ingredients for the spell in the morning to give Scott enough time to prepare the potion for Harry to use in the afternoon. "The house is always busy in the day time," he explained. "She meets with everyone. People from the High Council, other wizards, it's always packed in there. She'll be too busy to keep a close watch on the mausoleum."

"Good plan," Harry nodded.

"Oh, and you have to call my school," Scott added. "Pretend to be Mr. Fielding and tell them I'm sick or something. If I don't get an excuse, they'll know I cut."

"What's the number?" Harry asked, pulling out his cell phone. He was still getting used to the oddly small buttons, but had made progress in dialing out. The wizard noted with some amusement that as Scott rattled off the number, the boy had shifted in his seat to sit as far away from the cell phone as possible.

True to Scott's word, the ingredients for the spell were expensive. And something Harry knew he could never afford in his own reality. Back at Harry's apartment, he watched the boy mix in a pinch of ground up dragon teeth that had cost a grand a pack with careful, measuring fingers. Seeing Scott at work and unable to contribute, Harry wondered if the frustration he was currently feeling at being only an observer was what Bob felt all the time.

When Scott had shown him the outline of the potion he intended to make for Harry, the wizard saw it was a variation on a shielding spell he'd done once himself. Only now Scott was amping it up by using dragon teeth and mermaid scales instead of the much more downgrading raven claws and frog eggs that Harry had used. But all the same, the wizard forcefully held back from making comments and suggestions as Scott worked. His hands inched to just take the spoon away from the boy and mix it himself. Not being able to do magic alone was one thing, but watching someone else do it when he knew he should be able to as well was somewhat tortuous.

_Who knew I was a backseat driver? How does Bob stand this?_

After an agonizing few hours, Scott presented him with a blue-green potion to drink.

"My lessons start in an hour," he said, re-shouldering his book bag. "You should drive around and come in from the woods into the gardens. I'll be in the library with Mr. Wolf by then. Ms. Ellery will probably be in a meeting. She always is. Be sure to drink that before stepping foot on the property."

Harry nodded, pocketing the potion. "Thanks, Scott."

"Just find my mom," he replied.

* * *

To Harry's benefit, his memories of the woods that lay just outside of his uncle's gardens weren't too different in this reality. The wizard parked his car a half mile away and had walked swiftly through the trees before emerging just behind the mausoleum.

Soundlessly as possible, he moved across the space between him and the stone structure and pressed against its cold outer walls. Sliding across, he peered around over toward the house to Elena Ellery's study window and saw the curtains were drawn.

As Scott had told him, the doors to the mausoleum were unlocked and opened without even the slightest creak when Harry pressed on them. Quickly, the wizard squeezed his way in past the small gap he'd given himself and shut the doors as soon as he was through.

There was a single shaft of sunlight peeking down from the one window afforded to the mausoleum. But the main source of illumination came from the numerous sigils that glowed and hovered in the air. The light was even so intense in some areas of the corner that Harry had to squint. Through half lidded eyes, the wizard spotted a pillar in the middle of the circular room, on top of which was the familiar skull.

Only as Harry got closer, he saw the bones were a little more battered than he remembered with a few more teeth missing. Even the triangular wound at the back seemed enlarged with additional damage. Tentatively, the wizard reached out and traced the ragged edges of the cracked skull, frowning at its appearance.

"Is it your business to touch other people's property?" asked a voice from the corner.

Harry jumped, surprised with himself for not having spotted the ghost, whom he assumed had been inside the aged bones.

"Jeez, you scared me."

There was a sharp bark of a laugh from the ghost that wasn't entirely pleasant. He kept his back to Harry as he continued to write. In an effort to move around to face the ghost, Harry rushed forward and caused his arm to inadvertently brush against a set of equations. The symbols shuddered and vanished from the air, darkening the room.

"Oh, crap. Sorry, Bob," Harry apologized out of habit.

That seemed to get the spirit's attention. Not so much a part of his formula having been destroyed, but the reflexive apology. It was the same set of pale eyes and the same expression of mild shock that Harry had often seen on Bob's face during their years together. But there was something all together muted about this version. It reminded the wizard of the first time he'd met his old mentor. Back then the ghost had been overly stilted, though as a child, Harry would never have thought the tall figure was anything but human had it not been for the fact he'd appeared in a cloud of smoke. But this version was different. This version was uncomfortably removed as if he was someone playing at being human.

There was no recognition in the ghost's face and while Harry had been expecting as much, it still struck the breath out of him.

"I know…I know you don't know me," said Harry, trying to figure out how to work up to explaining himself. He had a feeling this wouldn't be as easy as it had been with Scott. "My name's Harry Dresden and I…" _I come from an alternate universe?_ he tried on again. _That still sounds retarded no matter how I spin it.  
_

The ghost tilted his head back slightly, studying the wizard for a moment. Soon, recognition did filter onto the pale face, though not the right kind. "You are Justin Morningway's nephew," he stated.

"That's right," Harry nodded, taking anything he could get.

The ghost smirked. "The last of the Morningways. He had hoped you'd be his successor," he said. "I'd never seen a man so disappointed when he saw you had no magic in you. Elena Ellery must rejoice at your existence." The spirit turned to focus back on his floating sigils. "The magic of the Morningway line dies by genetic chance. Very tragic," he said, sounding almost bored.

"It's not dead," Harry stated. "Not in my world. The right one." The necromancer looked over at him, the face unreadable. "I'm a wizard. I can do magic."

"I beg to differ, Mr. Dresden. But you cannot. Your uncle-"

"Yeah, I know in this world I can't do any magic," Harry interrupted. "But this world shouldn't be here. It's the wrong one." Judging by the ghost's expression, he was trying to decide whether Harry was lying or simply delusional. Either option seemed to amuse him slightly. "I know I sound nuts," the wizard continued. "But…look, my uncle wanted to take me in, right? He would have if I could do magic," he reasoned, rapidly. "In my world, he did take me in. I did learn magic. You taught it to me."

That look of weighing in of either lying or delusional was not leaving the ghost's face. But not being able to think of anything else, Harry charged on. "You were my teacher. I've known you for over twenty years. We still work together. We're supposed to be working together. I own your skull, but…" The wizard paused to look at their current surroundings, of the stone walls that had been the spirit's prison for the past two decades. "I keep your skull," he amended. "It passed onto me, but I don't OWN you. Not like the way you are right now. You help me with my cases and I need your help now. I need to figure out how to fix all of this so that everything's normal again."

It seemed the necromancer had finally settled on delusional as the correct verdict and slowly shook his head. "It's all very amusing, Mr. Dresden and thank you for the entertainment, as unusual as it is."

"God dammit, I'm not crazy, Bob!" Harry exclaimed in frustration. Seeing the surprised look, the wizard nodded, "Yeah, there's that, too. I named you that because when I was eleven I thought Hrothbert of Bainbridge was a ridiculously long name and let's face it, I still think that. Bob's always suited you better. That's who you are."

Finally, there was a flicker of something other than patronizing in the ghost's eyes. "Stuff in this world is different, but not so different," Harry pressed on. "I know you secretly like 16th century show tunes. I know that you pace with your hands behind your back so you won't accidentally move through something. When you're concentrating on something, like working out a really hard spell, you twist that ring on your finger," he listed, pointing to the jewelry. Harry watched the ghost's eyes narrow in shock at the list. "See? I know you. You're my friend."

* * *

It was taking Scott more effort than he'd anticipated to not keep staring at the curtains that currently covered the French doors leading out to the gardens. The boy barely managed to keep up some semblance of attention as his tutor rattled off the lesson in his usual clipped tones. Gripping his pencil with enough tension to nearly break it, he attempted to copy what was being lectured to him.

He calculated that Harry Dresden, the man from another universe, had been inside the mausoleum for at least half an hour now. Maybe he'd already gotten the information he needed from the ghost and was now gone. But somehow, Scott didn't think it'd be that quick.

And then he felt it. A small shift in the air. He might have missed it had it not been for the fact that his entire mind had been preoccupied with the goings on inside that stony monstrosity.

Having spent the last year of his life sitting in this library, the boy had grown somewhat used to the cold sensations that emanated from the mausoleum. But he hadn't been able to completely shake off the trickle of despair that always seemed to lap out from the stony walls. Only now the air felt a degree warmer. And while the feeling of misery had not completely dissipated.

It felt…interrupted.

Scott stole a glance up to his tutor, who only continued to lecture, unaware of the difference. But feeling far from relieved, the boy cast a worried look toward the closed curtains. It was a subtle difference, but one he'd felt nonetheless. And if he could feel the change in the aura around the mausoleum, perhaps Ms. Ellery could as well.

* * *

"Why would you wish to rid yourself of your magical abilities?" asked the ghost.

Harry sighed at the repeat of Scott's question. "I just said it. I didn't mean it. I didn't know she was some wish granting demon-fairy-spirit-genie thing, did I?" he defended at the look he was getting.

"While not exactly helpful, your use of all four of those words does illustrate the staggering volume of beings you are contending with in identifying what sent you here."

"Can't you help me narrow it down a little?" said Harry. "You're good at this. You've always been able to figure something out."

The ghost sighed. "Am I to understand you often supply such little information for your heavy demands?"

"Pretty much."

"I weep for my counterpart." While Harry normally would have reacted with a smart comment of his own, the wizard was too relieved for the help and the familiar sarcasm peeking through to complain. "Describe the woman again," the ghost ordered.

"Short, kinda overweight. White hair, green eyes, looked like she was about in her 60's. She told me her name was Martha Finley. Um…wore a green house dress and a gold bracelet," Harry recalled. "She wasn't…exactly a looker. Probably wasn't even when she was young."

"Mr. Dresden, I doubt she was ever young," stated the ghost. "But you didn't notice her being rooted to any particular spot when you visited her." Harry nodded his agreement. "That eliminates genies and any form of djinns. They would have a visible object, connecting them to this world."

"A demon, maybe?"

The ghost furrowed his brow in thought. Unconsciously, he fiddled with the ring on his finger, just as Harry had noted. "I have never heard of a demon who granted a human a wish without asking for payment in return."

"Well, I got rid of a boggart for her," Harry offered. "Maybe as a thanks?" The look he received on that made the wizard feel unusually stupid.

"I think it's safe to assume that your case was a ruse to lure you into her house. Any demon can defeat a simple boggart."

"It was unusually vindictive," Harry defended. "And it wasn't her house, really. It was her business."

"Which was what?"

"She ran a Laundromat. What?" A thoughtful look crossed the pale face. "What? What've you got?"

"The woman washed clothing for a living?" he asked.

The wizard nodded. "That's what she claimed, yeah."

"A wish-granting old woman in green who washes clothing," the spirit mused. "It almost matches…"

"What almost matches?" Harry demanded.

"The Bean Nighe fits your Mrs. Finley's description," said the ghost. "The Nighe is of the Scottish folklore. The spirit of a washer-woman having died at childbirth," he added on Harry's blank expression. "She is said to grant three wishes. Only one needs to call upon her in order to obtain their requests."

"But I didn't call on her. She called me," Harry pointed out.

"My point precisely. It does not completely match."

The wizard moved to dismiss the identification, but paused. During his career as an investigator, Harry had the sensation more than a few times of the truth hovering just in front of him, obscured by some fog. And he was getting that feeling now. He could sense the answer was just there, waiting for him and ordered his brain to work faster, to think back on what was triggering this near eureka.

"This Nighe woman grants three wishes? Any kind?" asked Harry.

"Yes," the ghost said, slowly, almost seeing the wheels turning. "Why?"

The wizard began to theorize, piecing together the only possible option he could see. "Because maybe someone else conjured her up. And wished for me to have my wish granted."

The pale figure raised an eyebrow. "That seems rather an unusual maneuver."

"But it makes sense," said Harry. "Can anyone call up this Nighe woman? Can I do it even though I'm normal?"

"The summoning of a Nighe for you would be challenging," replied the necromancer. "But yes, theoretically, you would be able to do it. You need only specify the spell."

"Specify?"

"The incantation within the spell is the same for everyone up to a point. But before the final resolve, you must personalize it with the naming of one close to you who has died. Your pain is what calls the Nighe."

Harry thought on who he would name. In what reality would he be talking about? In his own world, he would name his father without hesitation. But in this world, his father was alive. "Whatever loss brings you pain, Mr. Dresden," the ghost repeated when the wizard voiced his concern. "This is assuming that your theory that someone else wished for you to get your wish is sound."

"Someone knew that I was going to wish to be ordinary," Harry reasoned. "Someone wanted me to not be able to do magic. To get me out of the way." The wizard took a mental stock. "Great. That leaves an army of suspects."

"I sense you are not the most favored of creatures, Mr. Dresden."

"Yeah, you and I have that in common," agreed Harry. A small grin broke out on his face. "That's why we get along."

If the spirit found the remark amusing, he didn't show it. At least, not in an overt way. Harry could have sworn he saw something flicker across the pale features before it settled back to expressionless. "If there are so many wishing to be rid of you, why this method?"

"Good point," Harry conceded. "It makes more sense to just kill me, doesn't it? I mean why go through all of this to make me a world where my life is…." The wizard trailed off, trying to think of the appropriate word.

"Perfect?" came the offer.

Whipping around, Harry saw Elena Ellery standing inside by the closed doors of the mausoleum, her entrance undetected. The small woman was shaking her head, a sadness in her eyes. "Oh, Mr. Dresden. It was all so perfect. We both had what we wanted. You had everything to make you happy. Why didn't you leave it alone?"


	8. Chapter 8

Without offering any resistance, Harry followed Elena Ellery out of the mausoleum.

In her dark suit that swallowed any traces of femininity, Elena Ellery was not an intimidating figure herself. But the calmness of her movements and her congeniality felt fleeting. With a single wrong word or gesture, Harry feared that whatever politeness Elena was extending to him now could be destroyed and replaced with something more sinister. That effect alone was intimidating enough to make the wizard to want to obey her, at least for the moment. It was with a certain frustration and anger that he knew had he still had his powers, he would not be so obedient. But he couldn't afford to be rash now. He was defenseless against her.

There was a fire lit in the study and while the space was no longer Justin Morningway's, Harry felt odd traces of his essence lingering. Despite the added warmth of the flames, the place was cold. Just as the wizard always remembered it being when he had been a child, sent into his uncle's place of work to either be chastised or heavily quizzed on his progress.

"Sit down, if you will please," requested Elena, making it sound like he had a choice. As Harry folded himself into the chair, the smaller woman dragged her chair out from behind her desk to sit closer to him. The unexpected intimacy of the gesture threw him a little. "Mr. Dresden," she began. "I realize I must have made a mistake not letting you know right away what was happening. When you came to visit me, I knew your natural inquisitiveness that makes you an investigator must have pushed you to search out answers."

"That's one way of putting it," Harry agreed, his expression stony. "Another way would be to say I was trying to figure out what who took my life away and transported me to Opposite Land."

A frown settled on Elena's taut face. "Took away your life?" she asked. "Don't you mean given you one?" She spread her hands in a presenting gesture. "Isn't this what you've always wanted? I specifically asked the Bean Nighe to grant you your wish. Your heart's desire."

"Listen, I didn't-"

"You asked to be normal," Elena continued over Harry's interjection. "This is your life as a regular human. You have success, money, family, and love. You have people who care about you and who love you. It's everything you wanted."

"You're from my world," Harry said, only concluding now what he realized he should have pieced together earlier. "You didn't pull me here. You sent us both here, but you have two sets of memories. You wish that from the Nighe?"

"I've created this world for us, Mr. Dresden," said the sorceress, ignoring the question. "I've watched you. I knew how unhappy you were."

The wizard eyed the smiling woman, peering past her gracious expression He recalled Bob's words in the mausoleum.

_"Elena Ellery must rejoice at your existence."_

A cold smirk laced the Harry's face. "And why do you care how happy I am? You run a Make-A-Wish Foundation for wizards?" The gracious smile on Elena's face became tighter, but managed to hang on. "What's in it for you?"

"As I said, perhaps I made a mistake in not explaining it all to you."

"I think your mistakes go a little beyond that."

Rising from her seat, Elena walked to her desk and picked up the antiquarian book she'd only recently snatched back from the mausoleum. Opening it to the appropriate section, she handed the book to Harry.

"It's in…Welsh?" he guessed, staring at the yellowed pages.

Elena sighed, taking the book back. "It's a very old prophecy, if that's the word to use. It is more a history as well as a future that involves our ancestors. The Ellerys, as I told you are a venerable family. We have been in the wizarding world just as long as the Morningways. But it seems to be our fate to remain in obscurity while your family thrived." Although her voice remained nonchalant, Harry could detect the traces of resentment. "A great ancestor of mine wrote part of this tome," she continued. "He foresaw that as along as a Morningway with magic in his or her blood existed, the Ellerys would remain insignificant."

Harry stared at her, digesting the information. "That's complete crap," he finally concluded.

"You are quite wrong," said Elena, coldly. "In our world as I'm sure, you have never heard of me. I am the last of the Ellerys as you are the last of the Morningways. And just as it was all throughout time, no one notices the work I try and accomplish. And you-"

"And I what? I'm flushed with success?" Harry retorted. "I barely have enough money to keep a roof over my head. And last I checked, being magical hasn't made me anymore popular with the Council."

"This is my point, Mr. Dresden," Elena replied, pointing a thin finger at the seated wizard. "Your magic made you miserable and at the same time prevented me from taking a rightful place in the world. I have solved both our problems."

"Okay, this is…this is just stupid," said Harry, shaking his head. "You lead your life based on some prediction someone made hundreds of years ago. Your life is what you do with it."

The sorceress looked at him with more pity than anger at his judgment. "How can you be so obstinate to destiny? Can't you see from the creation of this world that it's true? You are no longer have any powers. The last living Morningway has no magic. And now an Ellery can ascend to influence. We have what we want. We are who we should be."

"I'm a wizard!" Harry shouted, rising to his feet. "That's who I am. It's who I should be. You can't take that from me."

"I only granted you-"

"No, you didn't! Don't make this about being charitable."

"Lower your voice," Elena ordered, her own volume kept at an even level. While Harry towered over her, she pinned him with her gaze. "You may think this is about me being selfish, but you have no idea of the kind of work I've done in this world. The progress I've made and the lives that have benefited."

"Like Scott Sharp?" Harry asked. "You took him from his mother."

"I've placed him where he can fully reach his potential," defended Elena. "In the end, he will profit from my intervention." Harry's sensing of his uncle from earlier only strengthened at the comment. "You lead such a_ small_ life, Mr. Dresden. For all the power and influence you could have had, you choose to help individuals on a case by case basis. And people who don't even wish for your assistance. You make such _little _impact on the world. Can't you see the logic in my actions?" Elena looked at the wizard, imploringly. "You have a good life. And the world is to become a better place. You have my guarantee."

"I don't go much for people wanting to change the world to what they think is better, no offense," said Harry with a humorless smile.

"Do you deny that your life isn't better that you are now a successful writer?" demanded Elena. "Do you deny your father's life didn't turn out better now that you were never fought after by your uncle? Or Lieutenant Murphy's now that she has someone she trusts implicitly? Someone she loves?" Noticing Harry start a little at her last comment, Elena smiled. "Yes, she does. In this world she does. Do you think she ever could in the one we first lived in? Would you really change all of that to have it go back to the way it was? Your father dead and Lieutenant Murphy suspecting you at ever turn? Everyone in this world benefits. Scott as well, even if he cannot see it just yet."

"Not everyone," Harry said, darkly.

Elena stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment before realizing. Her face clouded over, her fingers biting down a little on the book still in her hands. "Your attachment to the ghost is regretful. And while you might not like it now, you must understand that you are being spared a great burden by the separation."

"What the hell are you talking about?" demanded Harry.

"Don't you understand the enormity of his curse? You cannot be around it for so long without it tarnishing you!" Elena exclaimed. "Men far greater than yourself have fallen prey to his influence. Lives have been destroyed! I keep the skull where it must be. Away from the world."

"Bob's never influenced me to do anything unless it involves doing dishes," retorted the wizard. "And I've spent over twenty years around him-"

"Yes, and what did you do?" Elena inquired, a ghastly expression on her face. "You murdered your uncle with black magic."

"That…" Harry swallowed. "That was my choice. My mistake. It had nothing to do with him."

"Are you so sure?" she asked. The book was now clasped to her chest as it had been when she'd spoken to the spirit in the mausoleum. "My grandfather owned the skull before your uncle. And he was a good man. But being near that thing….he called up a Fury that killed him. That ghost and his curse killed him."

For the first time, Harry saw a wrath that Elena could not quite contain. Even as she spoke in even tones, the wizard could see the murderous rage so intense her frame shook. It made all sense to him now, the mausoleum, the isolation and the state of the skull. Elena was frightened of Bob, but if anything, she hated him with a near hysterical, righteous zeal that was born from an intense pain. Strangely, seeing the anguish made Harry feel something akin to sympathy for her.

"Your grandfather died because he called up a Fury," said Harry with almost a gentleness.

Elena laughed harshly. "Don't speak to me as if I am insane, Mr. Dresden. I know very well what I speak of. If I had it my way the ghost would be destroyed, but his obedience gives me no reason in the Council's eyes to be rid of it."

"Ms. Ellery-"

She held up a hand. "He is not the same. He is not your friend and he is not the one who taught you magic."

"Because you changed everything," replied Harry, his anger returning. "You've got no right-"

"No, Mr. Dresden," she cut in. "_You_ have no right. Not in this reality. Our world, my world, the magical world has nothing to do with you any longer. These are my concerns. Not yours." There was now a hardness in her eyes as she saw that kind persuasion wasn't going to work on the wizard. "I have no wish to make your life unpleasant. But you will do well to keep in mind that you no longer have any means to protect those close to you. Not from someone like me."

Harry was used to threats. But he wasn't used to them when utterly defenseless, magic-wise. He had no retort or objection to make because he knew she was right. Maybe the Council would intervene, but Harry didn't give them much faith in his reality and saw little reason to start in this one.

At the wizard's prolonged silence, Elena Ellery's face returned to the picture of graciousness again. She replaced the book where she'd picked it up and dusted off her hands. "Now, I have called your father to come pick you up. I've explained how strange it was to have you try and break into my home, but don't worry," she smiled. "I won't be pressing charges."

* * *

Malcolm Dresden pulled the car through the iron gates in silence for a few blocks as son sat next to him. After the mansion behind them disappeared, the older Dresden finally broke the quiet.

"Harry, what's going on with you? Why would you break into her house?"

"I didn't break…" Harry sighed. "It's not as easy as that."

"Then explain it to me," said Malcolm. He stole glances at Harry as he continued to maneuver. "You've been acting weird this entire week. What's wrong?" When Harry remained silent, he sighed. "Listen, Harry. You're not a kid anymore. I'm not going to scold you like one. You're a grown man and I know you wouldn't do something like this unless you had a good reason, right? So tell me. I want to help you."

Staring out his window, Harry thought for a moment to tell his father everything. About how he wasn't Harry Dresden, the non-magical college graduate, successful writer who was prosperous enough to buy his father a business. He was Harry Dresden, a high school drop out and a wizard investigator who barely made enough money to avoid homelessness. About how in his world, his very existence had caused his father's death. And even after twenty some years, he still remembered that day like it had been yesterday, the pain never lessening.

"You can't help me, dad," Harry said instead. "I know you want to, but you can't."

For the rest of the ride, the silence persisted.

* * *

Wordlessly, Harry followed his father into the storefront. Malcolm walked through to the kitchen and began to heat water in his kettle. When Harry saw him take out two mugs, he joined him in the kitchen.

"This is about your mother, isn't it?" said Malcolm as he gave Harry his tea. "You've been talking about her and your uncle. And now the house. She been on your mind?"

"Sort of," Harry conceded. It wasn't exactly lying as he had been thinking of her, only she hadn't been the main concern.

"Harry, if you have any questions about her, you could have always asked me."

"Do you know how she died?" The question left Harry's mouth before he had a chance to think about it. Would this version of his father know anymore than his own? The wizard got his answer when Malcolm shook his head.

"No one knows what happened to her," he said, sadly. "Maybe your uncle knew, but..well, he's gone too." Malcolm eyed his son. "Is that why you went to the house? To try and find out?"

Caught at having to lie, Harry bought himself some time by taking a drink from his mug. "I miss her," he finally murmured, truthfully. "Is that weird? I was a baby when she died, but somehow I miss her."

"Why's that weird?" asked Malcolm. "She was your mother." Abruptly, the older Dresden rose from his seat. "Wait here a minute." He left the kitchen to go upstairs to the loft area. Harry could hear drawers being opened and closed before his father came back down. "Here. This is for you."

Without having to unwrap it, Harry knew what would be nestled in the piece of cloth that was handed to him. He gently rubbed the familiar metal and soft leather. "Mom's bracelet."

Mildly surprised at the correct guess, Malcolm only nodded. "She left it behind for you. I would have given it to you sooner, but you didn't seem that interested in…well, in her world when you were a kid."

Harry smiled as he fitted the band onto his wrist. "I must've been a stupid kid," he said, half to himself.

"She told me it's for protection. Don't know why she wasn't wearing it when…" Malcolm trailed off, his own sadness catching up to him.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, softly. Reaching across the table, he squeezed his father's arm. "Thanks, Dad."

Touching the hand, Malcolm returned the smile. "Sure, kiddo. Anytime."

* * *

"God, am I glad to see you," said Murphy with a grin that turned quizzical. "You okay? You look lost."

"Uh, yeah," Harry answered, casting a glance around. "I had a little trouble finding where you were."

"I've been in my office the entire day, Harry."

"Yeah…office…"

Unlike in his reality, Murphy in this one had her own office instead of a cubicle. Comfortingly, the walls remained as sparsely decorated as the walls of her cubicle, except for the handful of drawings by Anna that were displayed with prominence and pride. "Here," said Harry, handing over the bag he'd brought. "Brought you some pie. And coffee."

"Oh, yes. I knew there was a reason why I liked you." Lifting the lid of cup, Murphy inhaled the aroma with gusto. "Good coffee, thank god. I was dreading having to get up to get another cup of the stuff we brew here."

Sitting down in the only other chair, Harry watched with fondness as Murphy took a long sip of the drink. "Glad to make your day brighter."

"Just what I need too." Taking the plastic fork, she cut the key lime pie in half and pushed a piece on a pile of napkins toward Harry. "Other than for bringing me dessert, I'm glad you stopped by. I have something for you."

"Yeah?"

Murphy nodded and caught something behind where Harry sat. "Hey, Kirmani."

Twisting in his seat, the wizard saw standing by the door was the detective, looking about as hassled as he always looked.

"Can you bring in the Sharp file I gave you earlier?" Murphy requested.

"Sure," replied Kirmani. Moving into the office, he waved a folder toward the lieutenant. "First, you can take this one. It's the autopsy report Butters sent up on those two we got at the warehouse."

"Great," Murphy said with little enthusiasm. "Thanks."

"I'll get the other one." As the detective exited, he nodded a greeting at the seated wizard. "Hey, Harry."

"Uh…hey, Kirmani," he returned, awkwardly. It felt strange not being on the receiving end of sarcasm or ridicule whenever Kirmani spoke to him.

From her desk, Murphy flipped through the report. "Burn trauma….900 degree blast wave…" she murmured as she read. "The hell causes that?"

At the mutterings, Harry craned his head to look at the sheet that was being held in Murphy's hand as she read the second sheet. Despite it being flipped upside down, the wizard saw the names of the victims typed neatly on the lines.

"Sorota…he killed them…" Harry realized.

"What?" Murphy looked up from her reading.

"What? Nothing," said Harry, quickly, though his mind raced through what he'd just learned. Caryn Harris and Matthew Jacobs were dead. Killed by Sorota or some hellion sent by him. They'd died by hellfire. "Nothing," he repeated to Murphy's look. "I was just…thinking out a plot point. For my book."

The lieutenant held his gaze a little longer. For the first time since he'd met her in this world, Harry could see something like suspicion touch her dark eyes. But before she could follow up on it, Kirmani returned with the requested file.

"This what I wanted to give you," she said, letting Harry take the folder. "I tracked down Sheryl Sharp."

Eagerly, Harry opened to the pages to look for her location. "Where did you…" The wizard trailed off when he saw the very large stamp across the first page that read 'Deceased.' "Oh, no."

"Yeah," Murphy nodded, sadly. "She was a patient at Sterling for the last year."

"The mental home?" Harry demanded, incredulously. "That can't be right. Sheryl wasn't unbalanced."

"The doctors thought otherwise," said Murphy. "She was being treated for schizophrenia. Mainly delusions. According to the records, they placed Scott in another home because she couldn't take care of him."

Harry furiously flipped through the rest of the folder, seeing the notes made about Sheryl claiming to hear voices, see demons and witches trying to harm her son. Her death was ruled as a suicide by a fatal fall from the window of the hospital. The wizard clenched the pages. Sheryl hadn't been crazy. Or at least not until Elena had done something to her to get her out of the way.

Sheryl, Caryn, Matthew. Harry's mind began to think on the fate of the others in this world. Was Liz Fontaine still around or did that incubus Jones kill her if she got as far as finding out he was responsible as to what happened to her boss? Was Boone now living in the body of a Vegas tycoon he'd taken over?

Slamming the file shut, the wizard got to his feet. "I gotta go. I have to find Scott."

At the burst, Murphy stared up at the tall figure. "Do you need any help? Harry?"

"No, I got this," he said. Leaning down, the wizard kissed her with unexpected intensity. "You're the best, Murphy," he stated seriously, after pulling back to look at the stunned woman. "If I ever treat you otherwise in this world or the next, feel free to slap me."

"Okay, sure," she agreed.

* * *

It was getting darker and Scott felt the air grow colder and colder as the sun began to slip away. But he couldn't go back to the Fieldings. Not now. But he hadn't been able to stay at the house either. He'd known the second Wolf had excused himself for a moment from the library that Harry had been caught. Wolf never interrupted his lesson for anything. Did they think he was stupid not to notice something like that? He'd waited as long as it took for the door to click behind his tutor's exit before grabbing his bag and books. He hadn't bothered to be elegant about his escape, knowing Ms. Ellery would probably figure out he'd made a run for it before he even cleared the property.

There had been only a single swallow of the shielding spell, leftover from the batch he'd made Harry. The fledgling wizard had poured that down his throat as he he'd run out the French doors, toward the woods to get away as far as possible. It hadn't been much, but he'd take what he could get. Harry's car had been there, abandoned.

Hours later, he was back downtown, having walked the distance. Out of desperation, Scott went back to Harry's apartment. He rang the buzzer several times to complete silence. Looking up, he saw the windows were darkened. Harry wasn't there. At a loss, the boy sat down on the landing steps. What was he going to do? For all he knew, Elena Ellery was holding him prisoner at the house. Or maybe she even…?

_No, wizards can't kill using black magic,_ Scott told himself firmly. _She wouldn't do that. She'd get in trouble with the High Council. He's still alive. _

But then where was he? How was he going to find him? He didn't have anymore ingredients to do another parano solution and even if he did, he wouldn't know where to even start. The tracks would be cold by now.

It began to sink into Scott that he was now completely alone. And while he'd felt isolated since the day his mother had left him with the Fieldings, he had had at least a place to sleep and people who had a mild interest in his welfare. Now he was on the run and homeless.

Tears blurred his vision as night began to descend. Angrily, he swiped at them. _Now's not the time for crying! I can't just sit here and wait for them to catch me. I need to make a plan.  
_

Slipping off his backpack, he unzipped it to study its contents. He had all the textbooks Wolf had given him, luckily one being a relatively comprehensive tome on spells. Scott only understood half of it so far, but maybe he could find something in there to help him Harry without having to use potions or other materials. The one thing he had on his side was that he was a kid. And adults tended to underestimate anyone who'd just barely cleared the single digit age. They might think he'd just give up, which worked to his advantage. With a clearer resolve, the boy got to his feet. If he was going to be poring over spells, he should do it somewhere out of sight and preferably warmer.

_I'm going to find Harry,_ he told himself. _This isn't over. _

As he descended the steps, a taxi pulled up along the curb. Scott stiffened and nearly broke out into a sprint when, as if by magic, the aforementioned wizard stepped out from the car.

"Harry!"

"There you are," he exclaimed. "Jesus, I've been looking everywhere for you. Elena's got the Fielding house completely staked. I didn't know where you went after I-" Harry didn't get a chance to finish as he was nearly tackled back into the taxi when Scott flung his arms around him in relief. "Hey, it's okay," said Harry, lightly patting the trembling back.

After a few seconds, Scott pulled away, keeping his gaze down to avoid showing the moisture that had collected again in his eyes. "Yeah, I know," he muttered. "I wasn't freaking out or anything. I totally had a plan. I was going to find you." When he felt it was safe enough to raise his eyes, he saw Harry smiling at him.

"I like your plans," said the wizard. "Got one for how we can call up a Bean Nighe?"

Scott twisted his face into a frown. "No. But I have my books."

"Then we're all set," Harry declared with confidence. "Let's go."


	9. Chapter 9

The taxi dropped them off in front, just as Harry had asked. If the driver had been at all curious as to why they'd wanted to be left at an abandoned storefront, he didn't show it. Staring the boarded windows and door, Scott re-shouldered his backpack.

"What's this place?"

"This is where it happened," Harry replied. "This was her Laundromat."

Scott lightly kicked the wooden slats that barred the entrance. "It's been condemned."

"It'll be the best place to work," said the wizard. "Let's try around back."

Only one small wooden plank was nailed against the back entrance, which Harry was able to yank off easily enough. Though when he pulled at the door itself, it remained firmly locked. Stepping aside, he watched as Scott gripped the handle and gave it pull, opening it easily.

The inside was a cemetery of broken washing machines. Casting around a beam of light from the flashlight he'd thought to bring, Harry spotted a few rats scurry away as they approached inside. The floor was littered with empty detergent boxes, wires, tubing, light bulbs and half broken chairs. But the structure and layout of the space was identical to the one the wizard remembered back in his own reality.

Scott, who had been studying his book on their way over, shoved aside a few upturned detergent boxes on the folding counter to make room for the large text. He ignored or didn't even notice the layers of dust that clung to his pants as he sat down on one of the few unbroken chairs.

"I don't know if you can do it," said the boy, frowning at the pages. "It says here you have to do an incantation and focus your magic on gripping the Bean Nighe." He looked up at Harry. "You don't have any magic."

"Bob said I should be able to do it. It'd just be harder," said Harry.

"But you can't focus something you don't have," Scott argued. "Maybe I should do it?"

The wizard shook his head. "No, it has to be me." Peering down at the book, he flipped a few pages. "There has to be another way to call her."

"Maybe in the trapping and containing spirits section?" Scott guessed. "I haven't gotten that far. I don't know what any of the symbols mean."

With the advantage of still having some memories of his old educational days, Harry flipped to the appropriate sections and began reading. He tried to ignore the jiggling of Scott's leg as the boy waited impatiently. Reading as fast as he could, the wizard skipped to a transportation section. "Here," he finally said, getting Scott's attention. "We can combine it with this," he pointed. "And this."

Scott studied the make shift spell cobbled that together the incantation for the Bean Nighe with a transportation spell that was better fitted for non-magical humans. Digging into his bag, he pulled out his set of chalk. "Okay, this shouldn't take me too long." He looked at the pages again. "You need something you can break for the final part of the spell."

A few minutes of hunting and Harry turned up with a handful of still intact light bulbs that was as good a conduit as anything. He sat in silence as he watched Scott get on his hands and knees with the flashlight to start drawing out the sigils. The single beam of light illuminated the boy's hands and face, casting a shadow that made the small figure look incredibly solitary and vulnerable. The wizard thought on what he'd learned about Sheryl Sharp. Scott had yet to ask about her, but he knew it was only matter of time before the boy did. A weight settled in Harry's chest as he realized that Scott really was now alone.

As if sensing the intense gaze, Scott paused in his writing to look up.

"What?" he asked, swiveling the flashlight around to point at Harry.

"Nothing, just watching you work," said the wizard, putting up a hand to shield himself from the bright beam.

Scott looked at him with suspicion for a moment longer before carefully putting the flashlight back down and scratching the last of the symbols onto the floor. "Here," he said, getting up. "You have to put the object in the middle there first." Rising to his feet, Harry walked over and gingerly put one dusty light bulb in the middle of the ring of symbols Scott pointed at. A pale, green light slowly lit up the object with sluggish resistance. "Okay, now say the incantation, the person's name and break the object."

The wizard read over the spell, memorizing the few lines and selecting in his mind the name he would utter to personalize the incantation as Bob had instructed. But as he prepared for the conjuring, he paused, glancing over at Scott who was watching him, his small face a study in seriousness.

"Scott," he began. "Listen, I have to-"

"You found her," Scott interrupted, quietly. "She's dead." His expression remained tight as he saw Harry's surprise. "You gave me that look. My mom gave me that look just before she told me Dad had left us."

"Your mom didn't want to give you up to them, Scott," said Harry. "She wanted to keep you. They wouldn't let her."

"Did they kill her?"

For a moment, Harry worried about the smaller wizard suddenly having ideas of revenge. But Scott looked oddly contained as he asked the question, only curious. "I don't know. They might have," he answered, truthfully.

"If this spell works and you go back to where you came from, none of this will happen, right? I'll be home."

"Yeah," replied Harry. "You'll be home."

Scott nodded. "Good." The small hand tightened around the chalk, his eyes boring into Harry's. "I hate it here. I don't want it to exist. You'll fix everything?" As hard as Scott tried, the tears rising up in the young eyes and the waver in his voice as he asked the last question were apparent.

Harry put a hand to the boy's thin shoulder. It was less a gesture of pity and one of assurance. "I'll fix it," he promised. "Everything will be okay."

The silence around them was broken as in the distance, a car alarm blared in the distance. While Scott only started at the unexpected noise, Harry tightened his grip on the boy as he narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"Scott, you gotta go," he commanded. "She's coming."

"What? No! What if the spell doesn't work? You need me," he protested.

"If this spell doesn't work then I'm going to need one of us to escape," Harry countered. The chill from the outside seemed to sharpen and a feeling of desolation began to permeate around them.

"She's bringing the skull," gasped Scott.

Hastily, the wizard pulled off the shield bracelet and fitted it onto Scott's wrist. "Here. If anyone takes a shot at you, this'll help." The boy stared at the band for a moment before diving to his knees and scribbling quickly a set of symbols around Harry and the spell he'd written out earlier. The combination looked strangely foreign. "What are you doing?"

"It'll buy you time," Scott stated through clenched teeth as the chalk flew across the floor. "As long as you're inside, it'll hold her off." Once the circle was complete, he got to his feet.

Seeing his hesitation, Harry urged him, "Run, Scott. Go." Leaving the flashlight with the wizard, the boy only gave a last look before turning and exiting where he came. Harry waited for a moment, listening to the light footsteps disappear. "Thanks," he whispered after him.

The air of despair was only getting stronger and Harry knew he was nearly out of time. Closing his eyes, the wizard clearly recited the incantation he'd read. The green light bulb continued to shine. Finally, Harry quietly spoke his father's name and slammed his foot down on the glass. It satisfying shattered, crunching into the ground.

Nothing happened.

Desperately, he put another bulb amidst the sigils and tried again, this time speaking his mother's name. The bulb shattered and nothing appeared. Before Harry had a chance to try again, the front of the store that had been boarded up exploded inward from a powerful blast. Wooden splinters flew toward the standing wizard and would have most likely impaled him except for Scott's protection ring that flared up, causing the wood to bounce harmlessly off.

From the gaping hole left over from the explosion, stepped in Elena Ellery.

In her right hand she held an impressively heavy-looking staff that seemed ancient, nearly taller than herself. In her other hand, she carried a cage. The aged skull rattled against the bars as she calmly walked across the store.

"Mr. Dresden," she shook her head. "How foolish can you be?"

"I'm trying to figure it out," said Harry. Kicking aside the broken bulbs, the wizard hoped to bluff that he had a working spell on his hands.

"You are testing my patience with this stubbornness," snapped the sorceress, slamming the cage down on the counter. "Why can you not leave things alone? They are better as they are now!"

"For who?" he countered. "You let Caryn Harris and Matthew Jacobs die. Or were they too little to get on your radar?"

Elena sighed impatiently. "Mr. Jacobs was a hellion. And as for Miss Harris, that was unfortunate. But thanks to her murder, the Council had more than enough cause to destroy the demon Sorota for the death of a human, saving hundreds of souls he would have taken. Or did you not know THAT?" she asked, smirking at Harry's expression. "I work for the greater good, Mr. Dresden. You saved two lives in your world. I have saved thousands by sacrificing one."

"And Sheryl Sharp? Was killing her for a greater good?"

"Undoubtedly," answered Elena. "That woman was impossible. As you are being. Now I am asking you for the last time, to please just stop. Your life will be easier for it."

Harry shook his head. "Sorry, lady. This is the wrong life. And to quote an 80's classic: you can't live in the wrong life."

"How unfortunate."

Without another word, Elena pushed her staff forward. A blast of light shot out from the top toward Harry. It was quickly dissipated by Scott's barrier. "Really, Mr. Dresden? A simple barrier is going to stop me?" she smirked. "It will only be a matter of time before it breaks." She let loose another charge that once again got swallowed up by the invisible walls, but instead of shuddering under the attack, the shield only seemed to grow stronger.

Harry looked around him as the protective walls hummed lightly. Instead of deflecting, it was absorbing Elena's attacks to constantly recharge itself somehow. _Nice, Scott_, thought Harry with a smile.

After the third blast, Elena swiped at her hair that fell across her brow in an increasingly frustrated gesture. "Come out this instant, Mr. Dresden!" she barked.

"What? Can't hear you," Harry called. "I'm too well protected by this barrier."

"Enough of this," she growled. The sorceress hit the floor with her staff once and the door to the cage that held the skull snapped open. "Outside now, ghost!" she commanded.

From the bones, a spark of gold shot forward. As it trailed upward, a line of black smoke shaped and formed until the ghost stood beside the counter. The pale eyes uneasily glanced at where Harry stood. Even if Elena had not yet noticed, Harry saw the spirit notice the broken remnants of the failed spell.

"Tell me how to break this barrier," ordered Elena.

Stepping forward, the ghost crouched down to get a better look at the sigils Scott had drawn out on the floor. "How very clever," he murmured. "It fuels itself with each attack."

"I didn't ask your opinion on it!" snapped the woman. "Tell me how to break it."

The ghost looked at Harry who tried his best not to look stricken. The skull belonged to Elena and by that right, she could force the spirit to obey her. If he knew how to break Scott's barrier, he would have to tell her.

Raising himself back up to his full height, the ghost looked at his keeper. "No."

"What?" demanded Elena. Harry gave him a surprised stare of his own.

"I refuse."

"You cannot refuse me, ghost!" Elena shouted. "I own your skull!"

"I am aware of that. And I still refuse," replied the ghost. And while his voice remained even, Harry could see the strain on the pale face as he spoke.

Livid, Elena gripped her staff. "I am your rightful owner and I command you by those rights to tell me how to break this barrier," she snarled.

At the repeated order, the grimace on the ghost's face intensified as an iron fist clench around his soul, squeezing it painfully at the insubordinate behavior. "No," he only repeated.

"Do you know what I can do to you for disobeying me?" Elena hissed.

"I'd imagine I'm giving you an early birthday present," replied the ghost, giving her an exaggerated grin.

"I can destroy you for disobeying!" Elena shouted. At her words, the skull in the cage glowed a dark red and the ghost's image blurred slightly as the figure fell to his knees.

"Wait!" Harry exclaimed. "Stop. You don't have to," he said, though it was uncertain whether he was speaking to Elena or the ghost.

Elena turned her attention back to the wizard. "Come out," she ordered.

"Look, the spell doesn't even work," Harry stated, gesturing to the pile of broken glass. "I tried and it doesn't work. I can't call her. I can't do it." The last of it he spoke to the ghost, who remained kneeling on the ground. Seeing the apology at his failure in the dark eyes, the necromancer shook his head, dismissively.

"How defeatist of you, Mr. Dresden," he scolded. "You are not concentrating."

"I am!" Harry defended hotly. And despite the immediate danger, the familiar reprimand took him back to the library in his uncle's house when he'd been only 11.

"You are not focusing. Hasn't my counterpart taught you any better?" the ghost asked.

"Silence!" Elena screamed.

"No," the spirit replied and despite the agony it caused, he seemed to get some perverse enjoyment out of refusing. "Try again," he said to Harry.

Slamming her staff on the floor, Elena summoned the skull that came to a flying stop at her feet. "This ghost," she declared maliciously, pointing a thin figure at the crouching figure. "Has disobeyed his rightful keeper. He has refused my command. By that act, I can do with it what I wish." The ghost's image blurred further as the skull glowed a red so bright, it looked nearly on fire. The sound of something cracking filled the area.

"Wait, stop!" Harry shouted, nearly stepping over the barrier's lines. "Don't! I'll come out. Just stop."

Even as his image was nearly gone, the ghost's eyes remained readable as he gave the wizard a look that Harry recognized with great clarity as being the "don't be stupid" expression he had seen Bob wear a thousand times.

"Try again," the ghost repeated. "Concentrate."

There was a loud blast that seemed to nearly break Harry's eardrums. He wondered for a dazed second if the building had been struck by lightening, but then the ghost's outline shuddered and dissolved into a cloud of smoke that disappeared into the air.

"Bob!"

By Elena Ellery's staff lay the shattered remains of the skull.

Without thinking, Harry rushed forward in a fit of rage at the woman. As his foot crossed the circle, the barrier around him collapsed. Harry got as far as getting a grip on Elena's shoulders before the woman slammed the end of her staff against the wizard's chest. A brilliant light filled Harry's sight before it darkened to complete black.


	10. Chapter 10

One more chapter after this! Almost there...

* * *

The first sensation that came back to Harry was touch, courtesy of his aching head.

And then he realized he was sitting upright instead of on the ground as was usually customary with a throbbing head. The slow rise to consciousness was upgraded to a cannon shot resurface when someone slapped his face.

"Ow! Jesus…"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Dresden," stated Elena, who glared down at him. "I really did not want it to come to this," she tsked.

Re-orienting himself, Harry saw they were still in the Landromat. Elena had placed him in one of the few unbroken chairs, pushed against the counter with his arms behind his back and cuffed to the bolted table. The space was now lit by hovering spheres of light, casting the area in a pale blue glow. One sphere floated just over the small pile of broken bones. Seeing them, Harry moved to get up and was wrenched back down by the handcuffs. He yanked to break free from them, as the metal only bit harder into his skin.

Elena watched the wizard struggle for a moment with a pitying look. "You are," she said. "Without a doubt, the most ornery person I have ever met." When Harry remained silent, she raised an eyebrow. "What? No pithy remark? No sarcastic reply?"

"Shut up," he ordered, flatly.

The sorceress pressed her staff end against Harry's chest. "I would be very careful if I were you."

Harry grinned fiercely. "Going to kill me? How're you going to explain that to the High Council?"

"Oh, I've already contact them about you," replied Elena. "Explained how Justin Morningway's nephew has corrupted a student of mine for his own personal gain and even managed to sway the ghost into disobedience. With great pity, I had to destroy it to ensure the safety of our world," she rehearsed. "After all," she added, leaning down toward where Harry sat. "The spirit of Bainbridge disobey? We cannot have such a dangerous creature be loosened from his chains."

Harry remained still, willing himself to keep calm and cease struggling against his binds. But Elena could clearly see the hatred in the dark eyes and shook her head. "You have no one to blame but yourself," stated the sorceress. "You could have led a very happy life here. But instead you chose to cause trouble. And now you must be dealt with."

Pushing her staff away, Elena stepped away. "The warden Morgan is coming. He will no doubt see fit to erase your memories of these events. I will advise him that we keep an eye on you and your loved ones. Just in case." The threat hung in the air. "But I don't suppose it will be too much bother. You will walk away from here a simple writer. A man unconcerned by anything beyond his books and his normal, small life."

"You really think that's going to work?" spat Harry, keeping still in his seat.

"If it doesn't, I'll simply think of something else," Elena smiled, unpleasantly. Leaning back into Harry, the sorceress whispered into his ear, "I gave you your father and the lieutenant. I can take them away just as easily."

"I thought you might say that," Harry replied.

Suddenly, the wizard snaked out a freed hand and gripped Elena's staff. Before the sorceress had time to react, he got to his feet and used his other hand to swing the chair from against the counter to smash it into her side. Losing her grip on the staff, Elena fell to the floor.

"What?!" she cried, stunned as Harry stood over her. Both of the wizard's hands gripped her staff and from one wrist hung the handcuffs.

"Trick of the trade," he growled. "Stay dow-" Harry barely had time to avoid getting the blast Elena threw at him in his face. Instead the rush of light caught him in the shoulder, sending the wizard toppling over. As Harry's shoulder connected with the floor, he swung the staff at a wide arc, unable to do anything else with it other than use it as blunt instrument. It caught Elena on the temple with a muted thud. The sorceress fell over, nearly on top of Harry and lay still, out cold.

The ligaments in Harry's shoulder protested as he struggled to his feet, the one cuff that still clung to his wrist rattling softly. Grabbing onto it, the wizard pressed and turned his wrist against the metal, feeling for the ratchet. The encircling band loosened by an inch, allowing him to pull his hand out. "Thanks, Dad," he muttered as he dropped the handcuffs to the floor.

Limping over, Harry felt ill as he picked up the skull. Or the remnants of it. The bones had always looked old, but in pieces in the wizard's hands, they looked on the verge of turning to dust. Since the day he'd first caught sight of the skull, Harry had always associated it with Bob, with magic. Now for the first time, he associated it with death.

"Bob?" he tried, knowing it was pointless. The skull remained silent.

Carefully, he put the bones on the counter, ignoring the dust from them that clung to his fingers. With his mouth set in a determined line, Harry snatched up the last light bulb he had available to him and placed it inside the sigils Scott had drawn.

_Concentrate,_ he ordered himself. _Don't screw this up. _

Taking a calming breath, the wizard spoke the incantation as the bulb glowed a greenish light again. Finishing the spell, Harry spoke the name of his teacher and slammed his foot down on the light bulb.

Nothing happened.

Harry swore blackly. Why wasn't it working? The symbols were correct and he was speaking the incantation properly. He was saying the name of someone whose death caused him pain. Immediate pain, even. Still, the air remained silent. The Bean Nighe was not coming.

In a fit of anger and desperation, the wizard smashed his shoe on the already broken glass again, shouting the ghost's name. "Work, dammit!" he yelled. "Please, it has to work! You have to come!" The sounds of the wire and metal of the bulb crunching under his foot were the only replies. "Please," Harry whispered, despair encroaching. "_Please_."

Nothing happened.

Time was running out. If Elena didn't regain consciousness first, Morgan would be here soon and then it would be over. He would be as good as trapped in this world, having made it worse since arriving. Digging his fingers into his hair, Harry felt his adrenaline start to give into desolation, prompting him to just give up and let it go.

But then he thought on Elena Ellery calling him the most ornery person she'd ever met. And he'd hate to disappoint her.

_Think, think,_ he urged. _There has to be something you're not doing. Bob said it'd be a challenge for me. I just have to figure out what's missing.  
_

Pushing aside the deadline of Morgan's imminent arrival, the wizard thought over in his mind the spell he and Scott had put together. Everything had worked up to the point of him speaking a name to personalize and breaking the object. It had to be that last step.

"Your pain is what calls the Nighe," Harry murmured, echoing what Bob had told him inside the mausoleum. He was feeling grief, even more intensely now than before. But the connection of his pain to the spell, the object he was breaking as the conduit, there was a missing link.

Harry glanced over at the counter. The remains of the skull, the section of the left eye socket, silently stared back at him. Walking over, the wizard picked up the weathered piece, rubbing a thumb across the engraving that still remained. He hoped to whatever god was listening that he was right.

When the bone was placed on the sigil, it lit up to the green as the light bulbs had. Taking a last breath, Harry spoke the incantation, followed by the ghost's name. The wizard raised his foot to smash the object and hesitated. If this didn't work, he would be destroying one of the only remaining things of Bob he'd have left in this world. Thinking on it, he paused, fearful that he would not be able to undo this. Closing his eyes, Harry swallowed and forced himself to put his foot down. He felt slightly nauseous as the bone cracked under his shoe.

The sick sensation was quickly replaced by a bolt of intense pain.

The wizard gasped, feeling as if someone was attempting to pull his entire skeleton out of his mouth in one yank. The agony was blinding as the air howled and rushed around him. When the pain receded to a more manageable level, Harry found himself on the floor, which was more familiar territory. Blinking open an eye, he saw he was still inside the Landromat. Only it appeared to be daytime. And by some freak accident or plumbing error in the last few seconds, there was now a river running through the middle of the floor.

Kneeling by the side of the rushing water with her back to Harry was a squat, hunched figure in green. Her hands were submerged in the river, gripping onto some sort of cloth she periodically pulled out to re-dunk.

"Mrs. Finley?"

The figure turned and Harry saw it was the portly woman he'd helped out what felt like ages ago. Her dark green eyes looked apologetic as she looked at him from over her shoulder. "Mr. Dresden. I'm glad you were able to call me," she said, sounding genuine. "I was hoping to meet you again."

"Quite a wish you gave me," said Harry, holding his anger in check. Whatever had happened, the Bean Nighe had been following someone else's orders.

Finley gave him a sad smile. "You didn't enjoy it. I had a feeling you wouldn't. But I'm afraid Ms. Ellery wished to have your wish granted and well…"

"Yeah, she explained that to me," Harry said.

Sighing, Finley pulled out the grey clothing she was washing and slapped it against a washboard by her feet. "You are such a nice young man. I didn't enjoy deceiving you. I often hoped that when I had a child, he would grow up to become someone like you." The sadness in her smile only increased. "Only I died before he was born. And now I'm trapped in this…state."

"I'm sorry," replied Harry, meaning it.

The Nighe looked touched. "You know, in all the years I've been caught by someone, you're the first to offer condolences for my situation. Most people go straight to demanding the wishes."

The wizard shrugged. "I have a friend who's kind of in your shoes. Is there a way to break it?"

The Nighe shook her head. "I'm afraid not. My pain keeps me here. And I don't believe that will be going away any time soon." She pushed the grey clothing back into the river and the waters seemed to be tinged a light red. "Although I do wish people would stop catching me. They always ask for wishes that are much too large. Those never work out." Pulling the clothing back out, she wrung the fabric in her hands. When she shook it out to hang it by the counter, Harry saw it was the grey suit he'd seen Elena Ellery wear the first time he'd met her.

The clothing strangely looked a little macabre, hanging there, empty of its wearer.

"There," said Finley, wiping her hands on her house dress. "Now, I imagine you'd be wanting those three wishes."

"I just want everything to go back to normal," said Harry, taking his attention away from the dripping suit. "Like the wish never happened. I want to just go home."

The Nighe nodded. "Yes, I thought you might. Your second wish?"

Harry took a moment to think. Even if he did go back to his own world and regain his powers, Elena Ellery would still be out there and possibly try again. "She's going to come after me again, isn't she?"

"She did seem very determined," agreed Finley. "She broke the bones of her grandfather's skeleton in order to call me the first time. Very much in pain, the young woman."

"What were her other two wishes?" asked Harry.

"Mr. Dresden," tsked the Nighe. "You know better than to ask something like that."

"Sorry," he apologized. "I just want her to stay away from me. To not keep trying to change whatever prophecy she thinks she's under." Trying to word as carefully as possible, Harry faltered, thinking on the grief for her grandfather and the pressure of her own insignificance that had twisted Elena Ellery. "If she could…maybe…find some peace."

Finley smiled at the words. "How kind you are. And your third wish?"

Harry paused, considering his options. There were hundreds of things he could ask for, all of them equally tempting. He could ask for his parents to be with him in his world. Or even ask that Bob be made corporeal again for good this time. After a few moments thought, the wizard asked, "You said big wishes usually go a little haywire?"

"The larger wishes tend to the way most people expect," answered the Nighe.

"It's like that monkey's paw story," the wizard mentioned. "You know, how people get three wishes with it, but they end up becoming twisted forms of what they asked for. Not that," he added, seeing Finley stare at him, "Not that I'm comparing you to a monkey's paw or anything."

To his relief, the Nighe only laughed.

"Okay," Harry smiled. "Third wish…" Finley looked at him expectantly. "After wishes one and two, I'd like it if it got a lot harder for people to catch you."

Finley blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I wish it'll get a little harder for people to catch you," repeated Harry. "Impossible, even. Give you some vacation time," he said, casually. "I never get vacation time, but I hear it's pretty nice."

The Nighe stared up at Harry for a few moments, her green eyes shining with unshed tears. "Oh, yes," she said, softly. "I would have been _very_ proud had I had a son like you." Reaching out, she put a callused hand to the wizard's face.

* * *

When Harry started awake, he was relieved of any headaches or agony on any other parts of his body. 

He was sitting in the kitchen where he had been having tea with Mrs. Finley that day. The plate of cookies were still sitting on the low table, his cup of tea having gone cold. Looking around, Harry saw he was alone. Mrs. Finley was gone.

Instead, on the chair she'd been occupying sat a hockey stick, he recognized so well. Harry move to grab it, but stopped himself. Holding his hand out toward the staff, he flexed his fingers. Immediately, it flew across the table, nearing breaking the tea cups, to slap into Harry's waiting hand.

The wizard nearly cried out in relief.

The staff in its rightful owner's hand hummed with power, churning the magic Harry could feel running in his veins, as familiar and as natural as the beating of his own heart.

* * *

The door to his storefront nearly came off its hinges when the wizard came bursting through. Scanning the area, he took in the clutter of tables, overflowing with old texts. The candles he almost always left burning were still flickering. On the front table was the pile of parking tickets from before. Everything was just as he'd left it. 

"Bob!" he called, rushing down toward the lab. "Bob, you here?"

"Where else would I be?" asked a mildly annoyed tone. The necromancer appeared from the door of the lab, nearly running through Harry in the process. "I have a limited walking space, if you might recall. Harry? What are you staring at?"

"Nothing," the wizard said quickly. "I'm…just happy to see you." Judging by the ghost's expression, Harry guessed that sounded about as strange as he figured.

"How did it go with Mrs. Finley?" asked Bob, attempting to get back to normal ground.

It was a simple question in theory, but the asking of it somehow drove home for Harry the sheer magnitude of things that had gone on for him the past few days. Days, now apparently erased from all existence along with the reality where he was a simple writer with Murphy as his girlfriend and his father was still alive.

Harry attempted a laugh at the ridiculousness of having to explain this, though it came out half choked.

The ghost frowned, the pale eyes growing concerned. "Harry? What happened?"

"God, Bob….everything," he said. "Everything happened."


	11. Chapter 11

Final chapter! Thank you to everyone again for reading and replying.

* * *

In the three days following Harry's return, Bob got to experience more of the outside world than he'd ever had before during his entire tenure with the wizard. Granted, he'd had to experience most of it from within his skull to minimize an accidental public walk through of an object or worse, a bystander.

Harry carried the skull everywhere he had to run an errand. Which in the last three days had been all over Chicago. He'd gone around to the Sharps and had been only able to catch Sheryl as Scott had still been at school. The single mother had been a little puzzled, but pleased at the wizard's unannounced visit and the somewhat over effusive happiness that seemed to come over him when she opened the door. He'd only stayed a few minutes to chat and to invite her and Scott to dinner again next week.

The Sharps had been just the first in a long line of visits and inquiries Harry made to everyone he'd ever been in contact with in the past year, from seeing Liz Fontaine to asking Morgan how Caryn Harris and Matthew Jacobs were. While happy to have some time outside of the office, the ghost was getting a little sick of being shuttled around in Harry's knapsack with the wizard's keys and pens constantly rattling around inside his skull.

Though considering what Harry had told him had gone on after he'd met with Mrs. Finley, Bob supposed the wizard's reaction was normal and kept his complaint to himself.

Then on the fourth day, all of Harry's over precaution in regards to Elena somehow bypassing his second wish to the Nighe were laid to rest when he received a call from Murphy.

* * *

"Why're you looking at me like that?" asked the lieutenant. 

"What? I'm not looking at you like anything," Harry answered, abruptly turning his head toward something very interesting on the floor.

Murphy shook her head, not in the mood. She directed the wizard toward the apartment door that was sealed off with police tape. "Just to be clear, the cause of death was a gas leak," she stated. "Half the building had to be evacuated."

"So why the need to call me?" asked Harry, following Murphy into the room. While the lieutenant didn't answer, the room did.

The place was a small, but tidy one bedroom. Modestly decorated by someone who obviously prided cleanliness over character. Three of the four walls were completely bare of anything, which was why the fourth wall stuck out all the more. From ceiling to floor, it was covered in photographs. Most of them featuring Harry, going about his daily business. The few images that didn't have the wizard in them were outside shots of his storefront.

The only photograph in the room that wasn't related to him was a small, framed picture sitting on an end table by the couch. It showed an old man, perhaps in his 60's, holding the hand of his granddaughter, who was grinning into the camera. And while the face was a lot younger and unmarked by any adult-earned wariness of the world, the haircut and eyes were the same. It was Elena Ellery.

Murphy held up a photograph of her own that was the image taken of the deceased at the morgue. "Did you know her?" questioned the lieutenant. "She certainly knew you."

Ice flipped over in Harry's stomach as he looked at the photo of Elena. The woman looked peaceful in her eternal sleep. The wizard thought on his second wish to the Nighe and felt a little ill. "I…I knew of her," he managed to get out. "Her family and my uncle's family knew each other."

"Can you think of any reason why she'd be stalking you?" asked Murphy, pocketing the picture. She was staring hard points at Harry and after catching a glimpse of the trust she'd had for him in his other life, seeing the suspicion in her now depressed the wizard more than he could explain.

"No," Harry answered, lying with resignation. "No clue."

"And she never once made an attempt to contact you?"

"Not in this life, no."

Murphy narrowed her eyes warily. "You know, when other people say that, it's just an expression. When you say it, I feel like I'm missing something."

"It's just an expression, Murphy," Harry replied tiredly. "I've never met the woman and I'd forgotten all about even knowing of her until today." _I'm on a roll with lying to her. Might as well go for broke. _

"It was a gas leak," Murphy repeated, as if trying to convince Harry. "It was an accident. I'm not asking you like you had anything to do with this."

The wizard gave her a stiff nod. "Is that it?" he asked.

The lieutenant stared at him a little longer, trying to decipher something before looking away, her mouth set at a frustrated line. "Yeah, that's it," she conceded.

Harry moved to go, taking one last look at the photograph on the end table. A young Elena smiled back at him from a happier time.

* * *

After news of Elena's death, Harry went back to leaving the skull in the lab. The wizard himself would disappear from the office, hours on end, returning late and heading straight to bed. From inside the lab, Bob could hear his former student rest for a few hours before waking from some nightmare before trying in vain to get back to sleep. Most nights, the ghost would peer from the walls of the lab to find the wizard attempting to get some rest at his desk, his head lying next to the framed portrait of him and his father that Murphy had returned. Any concerns Bob expressed at Harry's exhaustion was met with a lethargic dismissal that was getting to be an art form for the wizard. 

Unbeknownst to the ghost, Harry was spending his time sitting across the street from Mrs. Finley's now abandoned Landromat in his newly released Jeep.

A cycle of guilt and sadness had settled its hooks into the wizard. Guilt over Elena's death was quickly followed by sadness that Harry truly had closed the door to the world he'd visited. And while returning had been the right and only thing to do, the wizard couldn't help but run through all the conversations he could have had with his father and hated himself for squandering the time. Which brought him right back to guilt for missing a world he'd known was wrong and had fought so hard to escape from.

Finally, one day while Harry sat in his car, someone tapped him on the shoulder from the passenger seat. The blast he instinctively readied to throw at the intruder quickly disappeared when he recognized the ugly face staring back at him.

"Really, Mr. Dresden," said Mrs. Finley, kindly. "You must pull yourself together. You look frightful."

"Mrs. Finley? What're you doing here?" he asked, wondering for a second if he was hallucinating from the lack of sleep.

Sympathetic concern was stamped on the Nighe's face. "I thought I'd pop in to speak to you," she replied. "I'd taken the liberty to spy in on you and found you seemed a little out of sorts."

Self-consciously, Harry rubbed at his face and felt the scruff that was close to achieving beard status. "I haven't been sleeping very well," he explained.

"Because of Elena Ellery?" she inquired.

"When I wished for her to find some peace, I didn't mean that," said Harry, looking stricken. "I didn't know that's what was going to happen."

Finley shook her head. "You didn't kill her, Mr. Dresden. It was an accident."

"But my wish-"

"Didn't kill her," said the Nighe, firmly. "Ms. Ellery's death was already sealed before you made your second wish. I thought you noticed I was washing her suit. Don't you know the significance of that?" Harry mutely shook his head. The Nighe sighed, looking a little disappointed. "I'm surprised your friend in the skull didn't explain it to you. Or did you not tell him about that?" Thinking back on the scraps of conversation he'd had with Bob, Harry realized he'd failed to mention the suit Finley had been washing.

"It wasn't your fault, Mr. Dresden," she assured. "Ms. Ellery was to die on that day whether you wished for it or not. Actually, she went quite peacefully as you'd requested. Do you feel better?" she asked, giving the wizard an appraising glance.

"I…don't know." Harry gazed back at the empty Landromat. "It's stupid but I miss it. That world. Not all of it, but just,"

"Your father," guessed the Nighe.

"I could have spent that entire time being with him," said Harry, almost angrily. "I know that would have been wrong, but…" The wizard gripped his steering wheel. "It's not fair."

"No, it isn't."

"I didn't even get to talk to him about the things I'd wanted to. He was right there and I just…didn't."

Sympathy shined from Finley's green eyes as she gazed at the wizard. After a few moments, she quietly asked, "Would you like some time now?"

Harry looked at her, surprised. "What?"

"You could wish for some time."

"But-"

"Consider it a thank you from me. For your third wish." Finley's lined face was tinged with some worry. "I hope I am doing the right thing for you by offering this. I don't want to cause you any lingering pain over seeing him again for a limited amount of time."

Staring ahead, Harry turned the offer over in his mind. "Wish small, right?"

"That would be prudent."

"How small is small?"

"An hour would be sufficient."

"Okay."

The Nighe smiled. "Go home, Mr. Dresden."

* * *

"Hey, Harry!" 

"Hi, Dad."

"I was just closing up." The elder Dresden met his son by the store's front door and flipped the sign over after it closed behind Harry. "You staying for dinner?" he asked, warmly.

Harry shook his head. "No, I actually just stopped by to talk for a little bit."

Malcolm nodded. "Sure, we can talk in the kitchen. You might not be eating, but I am."

"Making lasagna again?" asked Harry, smiling.

"I'm trying to branch out," said Malcolm. "I'm shooting for herb-crusted chicken with salad."

"That sounds healthy," Harry said, not bothering to hide his surprise, which his father laughed.

"Thought you'd be happy. I know that cinnamon rolls thing was a fluke. Come next week, you'll be after me again about taking care of my health."

Harry smiled as they moved into the kitchen. "Nothing wrong with that."

"At the rate you nag me, I'm gonna live 'til I'm over a hundred." Malcolm shot his son a grin as he pulled the chicken out of the fridge. "Nothing wrong with that," he echoed.

The smile on Harry's face faltered momentarily, but passed by Malcolm's notice. "Yeah," said the wizardly softly. "Want some help?"

"With gratitude," replied Malcolm. "Here, you can cut the chicken. I'll work on the salad."

A few minutes passed as Harry carefully cut the meat. "Dad, I wanted to say sorry about the last week," he began. "I know I was acting a little crazy."

Malcolm kept his eyes on tearing the lettuce. "Nothing to be sorry about. It seemed like you had a lot on your mind. Is everything okay though?"

Harry slid the chicken pieces into the pan. "Everything's back to normal," he said.

The quiet tone his son used caught the former magician's attention. "You sure?"

Mutely, Harry nodded before looking back toward his father and smiled as brightly as he could. "Yup. Things are back to normal," he assured.

"That's good," replied Malcolm. The elder Dresden left the salad alone for a minute to season the chicken. "So," he said, after he'd pushed it into the oven. "When do I get to read your new book?"

"Well, that's the thing, Dad," said Harry, hedging. "I'm thinking I might quit writing."

"What? Why? I thought you loved it," Malcolm frowned.

Wiping his hands on a dish towel, the wizard shrugged. "I dunno. The work it just feels kind of unfulfilling."

"What would you do instead?"

Harry busied himself with straightening the dish towel back on the rack, not meeting his father's eyes. "I was thinking I might try my hand at investigating. You know, help people with cases."

"Like your character in your books?"

"Well, yeah, only I'd actually be helping real people. Not writing about it." The wizard glanced up to see the skeptical expression on his father's face. "It's kind of sudden, I know." Silence ticked by. "You don't approve," guessed Harry, crestfallen.

"It's not about approval, Harry," replied Malcolm. "I just don't want you to put yourself into any dangerous situations. You could get hurt."

"I'll be careful." Malcolm looked unconvinced. "I think I'd be good at it, Dad. I gave it a lot of thought," he said, thinking back on the thought process that had made him decide six years ago to open his wizardly investigating agency.

His father sighed. "If that's what you really want to do, I can't stop you. You're an adult, or so says the law. It's your life."

"Do you really hate the idea?" asked Harry, painfully against the stiffness with which his father took the news. "About me doing something like that? I mean, I know being a writer is more respectable and it makes more money and you'd be prouder telling people that's what I do and-"

"Whoa, whoa, Harry. Slow down," Malcolm interrupted, putting a hand to Harry's shoulder to stop the rambling. "I'm worried about your safety. This doesn't have anything to do with not being proud of you. I'm always proud."

"Really?"

"Sure. Listen, Harry," Malcolm began, making sure he had his son's attention. "A man's job is just his job. You can change them like clothes. But at the end of the day, the only thing that counts is a person's character. You can't change something like that. And you," he continued, squeezing Harry's shoulder warmly. "You have good character. One of the best. If not the best. You always did. Even when you were a kid. Of course I'm proud of you."

His father's face blurred a little and Harry dropped his gaze to the floor to buy himself some time to blink back the prickling he felt behind his eyes. When it felt safe, he answered with a quiet, "Thank you."

Malcolm patted his son's shoulder. If he felt any trembling beneath his fingers, he didn't mention it. "Sure you don't wanna stay for dinner? This might be your only chance to taste chicken made by me."

Laughing briefly, Harry nodded, playing along for the moment. "Okay, sure. I'll test drive your dinner."

"Great," said Malcolm, looking pleased. "It should be done soon."

Harry glanced at the clock that hung above the refrigerator. "Yeah, soon."

"We can start on the salad." As the older Dresden pulled out extra plates, he gave his son a measuring look. "This detective idea," he said. "Connie's been influencing, hasn't she?"

"Um…maybe?" Harry answered.

"When're you planning on marrying her, Harry?" he asked casually.

The wizard did his best not to drop the silverware he'd been selecting. "Marry?"

"Look, it's obvious you're nuts about her. I love her and I know she can run circles around you, which is like a prerequisite for marrying a Dresden." Hefting the plates and salad bowl in his hands, Malcolm faced his son. "But really, Harry. She's wonderful for you."

"Even if she's inspiring me to quit my lucrative job to start a detective agency?" Harry inquired with a half grin.

"She inspires the best in you," Malcolm answered seriously. "That's not a small deal."

"No," Harry agreed. "Definitely no small deal. And she definitely does do that." The wizard nodded. "I'll think about it."

"Don't think too long. Girl like her can replace you, no problem," warned Malcolm.

"Gee, thanks. What happened to me having the best character?" said Harry with mock hurt.

His father held up a hand, shrugging. "Hey, I speak as your dad. Not someone who's probably been waiting for awhile now for the boyfriend to pop the question."

"Okay, okay," Harry waved. "I get it."

Laughing, Malcolm moved to go out to the dining area. "I'll set the plates." He looked over at the oven. "When that's done, bring it out with the silverware, would you?"

"Sure," said Harry, looking back up at the clock. As his father began to walk away, the wizard stepped forward. "Hey, Dad."

Malcolm turned. "Yeah?"

Harry paused for a moment, studying this aged version of his father. He looked relaxed, content and pleased to about to be having dinner with his only child. The wizard tried to burn the impression into his mind. If not to replace his own real last memory of his father, then to soften it a little and make it more bearable.

"Thanks for looking out for me."

His father smiled. "Sure, kiddo. I'm always happy to."

Turning, Malcolm went to the other room, moving out of Harry's line of view. The hands on the clock above the fridge hit on the hour.

For a minute, Harry stood where he was with his eyes closed. Imaging in his mind, pulling out the ready dinner in a few minutes and walking into the next room to join his father. He held onto the fantasy for a moment. And then he let it go.

Opening his eyes, the wizard walked into the next room and found it empty. Save for his tables and books as per usual. Things were as they'd always been.

* * *

"Hey, good. You're up." 

Turning from his writings, Bob gave him a quizzical look as Harry sat down at his lab bench, dressed for bed. "I don't sleep, Harry," the ghost reminded. "But shouldn't you be? It's late."

"Couldn't sleep."

"Did you have another nightmare?" Bob asked carefully.

Seeing the ghost's hesitancy at broaching the subject, Harry felt guilty about putting him through the worry in the last few days.

"No," the wizard answered truthfully. "I just had some stuff on my mind. But things are okay," he added, seeing Bob's expression.

"Are they?" the ghost asked.

"Definitely."

The ghost held his gaze a little longer before giving a nod. "I'm happy to hear that."

"What're you working on?" Harry asked, indicating the golden symbols. "It's not another Doom Box, is it?"

"Harry, not all my re-worked spells are nefarious," sighed Bob, patiently.

"So what is it?"

"I'm re-calibrating a transportation spell," the ghost answered. "Should come in handy when you need a head start that's more than a few feet."

"Can you do it so the landing's not so hard?" requested the wizard. "I nearly broke my tailbone with the last one you gave me."

"Such demands," Bob grumbled without much rancor.

Harry grinned. "I keep you sharp."

"Annoyed, more like." The spirit turned his attention back to the floating letters. Studying the formula for the disembarking portion of the spell, he replaced the sigils. A few moments of silence passed before Harry spoke again.

"Can I stay and watch?"

Bob looked over at his former student, sitting somewhat uneasily at the table. There were times when with a word or a gesture, Harry reminded Bob so much of how the wizard had looked as a child. Self-conscious and nervous at asking for company. Afraid he might be dismissed. While Harry had grown resilient over the years, sitting in the lab now, the wizard wore the anxious expression that had often been on his 11 year old self whenever he'd come to the library to be near his spectral teacher and be comforted by watching him work.

And as he'd done then with the young boy, Bob nodded. "Of course, if you'd like."

"Thanks." Harry settled into his seat. "Maybe I can learn it tonight."

"If you don't drop off first," Bob guessed, resuming his writing.

True to the prediction, by the time the ghost completed re-working the spell, Harry was asleep, his head pillowed against his folded arms on the table. Bob moved to wake him up, but thought on the much needed rest Harry was finally getting. And he looked rather comfortable.

Bob raised a hand to wave away the floating symbols when he paused, casting a glance over at the slumbering wizard. Changing his mind, he left the spell where it was and returned to his skull.

Under the warm light of the glowing sigils, Harry slept soundly through the night.

THE END


End file.
